Harry Potter and the Serpent's Song
by aBookWyrm
Summary: When Harry Potter is rescued from Dementors just shy of his 15 birthday by an enigmatic stranger his world is altered forever. An Epic adventure of Dark Wizards, friends, betrayal, house-elves and more. AU, not OP,HBP,DH comp Fantasy Violence Read
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything Harry Potter; all characters/ settings etc, from the books and or movies are property of J.K Rowling and whatever Movie producer attached additional copyright to the franchise. I write merely for my own amusement and to improve my skills.**

_**Author's comments to follow each chapter as they are re-written.**_

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_**Prologue**_

**_Peter_**

The rat scuttled through the sewers, hopping over various bits of debris to reach his goal – an open storm drain where the sewer emptied into a river. The small creature carefully swung off the edge of the storm drain and landed on the riverbank, for a moment the rat did not move, whiskers twitching, beady eyes wide in the sunlight. A grey mist hung in the air, so fine and cold it stole away the heat of the sun. The little rat shivered, and with his nose twitching furiously, scuttled off down the riverbank. The air got colder the closer the animagus Peter Pettigrew got to his destination.

The Order of the Phoenix was planning a strike against the Death Eaters, but there had been reports of increased Dementor activity. Peter had taken it upon himself to sneak into the area where the Dementors were supposedly gathering and find out how many of them the Order could be expecting to come up against.

He probably should have told someone where he was going.

But he had _really_ wanted to do something useful, and he wanted to do it himself.

The river ran through a shallow gorge before entering a small, secluded moor. From one edge of the moor to the other, all Peter could see was black robed Dementors. Every so often, the mist would gather around a Dementor, and the being would retch, puking up a blackened, conglomerated soul-mass, which, as it fell from the retching Dementors mouth, formed into yet another Dementor.

_'Oh, bloody __**hell.**__ This is bad, bad, __**bad**__.' _

A long, dark shadow fell across him, Peter the rat squeaked and scrambled. He didn't make it very far before he was hit with a jet of golden light, and he tumbled out on the sodden bank as a short, plump man with very thin pale hair. His long nose twitched in fear as several black robed, silver masked wizards approached, wands ready.

"What should we do with him?" one asked.

The one standing at the front of the group, who was obviously the leader, replied. "Take him back to my manor. We'll interrogate him there."

"Should we not inform the Dark Lord?"

"Not yet. He may not be consequential enough to warrant our Master's attention. You know what happens to those who waste his time."

There was a flash of red light, and Peter fell to the ground unconscious.

The floor was cold beneath his cheek. Cold, and very hard. Stiffly Peter stretched his aching muscles. Heavy chains clinked with every movement, and Peter stared bleary-eyed through the dark at the thick manacles that were attached to his wrists and ankles. Peter groaned, and lay his head back down on the cold stone, waiting.

The Death Eaters came, and went. Hollow voices rang behind steel masks, demanding information. When Peter refused to answer, they tortured him, eventually leaving when their prisoner was a sobbing, twitching, gibbering mess on the floor.

They would return later, and start the process over again.

Peter could not tell how long it took the Death Eaters to return after each interrogation. There was no way to tell how long he had been a prisoner, or how long it took the Death Eaters to break him. And break him they did. Eventually Peter gave them any answer they wanted, even lying if need be. Anything to stop the pain.

Once broken, Peter was dragged from his cell, and presented as a gift to the Dark Lord himself. Peter was then given a choice, join the ranks of the Death Eaters, or be returned to his cell as a plaything for the faithful.

If death had been an option, Peter would have chosen that, but death was not an option. The Death Eaters had taught Peter the hard lesson that there were so many things much worse than dying, so many things from which dying would be a release.

Numbly, Peter watched as his arm was branded with the Dark Mark. He blinked slowly, and looked up into the red eyes of his new Lord.

"You belong to me now, Wormtail," the Dark Lord smiled, "You'll give me everything I want, won't you?"

"I'm sorry…" He whispered. Peter didn't know to whom he was apologizing, but the Dark Lord paid him no heed.

"You two," the Dark Lord commanded, "Get this wretch out of here. Send him back to his old friends."

Peter was dumped unceremoniously in a gutter somewhere. He lay there, sobbing, until someone – he was not sure just who it was – one of the Order, found him and took him in. Time passed, and it appeared to the others that Peter's emotional scars began to heal. They probably thought that they were helping him by overcome the trauma by allowing him to return to his old position of planner and organizer. But that only gave the Dark Lord more reason to keep summoning him. Peter dreaded the eventual moment when the Mark on his arm would burn black. He never hesitated to answer the summons, as much as he loathed his Dark Lord, he feared even more what the faithful would do if they ever caught him alive again.

* * *

_**James**_

Dusk, the time of Witches according to Muggles, when those of magic would appear and slink off to secret covens to work Dark and frightful spells in the coming night. Dusk, the time when the setting sun spilled brilliant colours across the sky, deep violets, sultry blues, magnificent magentas and glamorous golds. Dusk, a time of transitions, where those who feared the night would return to the safety of their homes lit by many electric lights, never giving a second glance to the last display of the sun's strength.

In days not so long past, James Potter would not have been watching the sunset, he would have been preparing for a nighttime escapade with his friends. Romping around the fields and forests of Hogwarts under the guise of animals and the light of the full moon. He was a handsome man, quite tall, well built and strong. His short black hair was rumpled, and his eyes were a deep, earthy brown flecked through with gold. Tonight he watched the sun set and wondered how many more sunsets his eyes would ever see.

Streamers and party decorations still hung around the interior of the modest house in Godric's Hollow, a cozy little village in Northern England. James' children, twin boy and girl, had just celebrated their first birthday. Even though the children were technically born on different days, their births had been celebrated together – this year. When they got older, and started inviting friends to their parties, it would be nice to have two separate dates. But for now it was quite convenient to have a party for both children on the same day.

Lily, his wife, was heavy into the third trimester of her second pregnancy, due to deliver sometime in late August. Contemplating the colours of the sunset, James wondered if it was irresponsible of he and Lily to be bringing children into a world so twisted with darkness and uncertainty. There were so many doubts in young James' mind. They were so young; James could only count twenty-one years to his life, perhaps that was too young to have children. Then, was one ever old enough to accept the responsibility of raising children?

"James, Dear? Are you staring out the window again?" Lily asked, very slowly making her way down the stairs from the nursery. She leaned heavily on the railing.

"I was just watching the sun set, Love," he replied, walking over to the stairs to give Lily his shoulder to lean on. As always she looked beautiful, her skin like fine cream, thick hair cascaded from her brow in crimson waves, and her eyes sparkling like fine emeralds, deep, clear and kind.

Lily laughed at him, lightly, almost as though she knew his thoughts and meant to reassure him.

"Are you afraid, love, that you will not see another?"

"If I could be certain, that if by my death you and the children would see a hundred thousand sunsets to come… there would be no fear in me."

"But you are uncertain," Lily murmured.

"There is nothing to give certainty." James sighed, and then looked out the sidelight, "There are times when I am not even certain the sun will rise again in the morning."

"James," she said, "It will be okay. I know we're going to make it through this."

"How can you know that?"

"Call it woman's intuition."

James frowned slightly, then offered the thinnest of smiles to his wife.

"I'm going out again tomorrow," he said quietly. "We've planned a strike at what we believe to be a Death Eater hideout."

Lily didn't say anything; she just leaned against him, arms wrapped about his trim waist, as close as her swollen belly would let her. James burrowed his face into the cove of her neck, smelling the sweet, summertime fragrance of her hair.

Nothing was said, but both knew what the other was thinking, for the same thought passed through both of their minds: would this be the time that James would not come home?

***

At three minutes past midnight, James waited for his partner in a deserted alley in Liverpool. From his current location, James could smell the sharp tang of the ocean, and the rank stench of garbage and rotting seaweed.

_Crack._

James turned, wand at the ready. Frank Longbottom had just Apparated into the alley behind him. Frank Longbottom was James' senior partner; they were both Aurors, specially trained Dark Wizard hunters. Frank's wife, Alice, was an Auror as well, but had been away on maternity leave until just recently.

"Have you ever been bitten by a werewolf?" Frank asked.

It was a security question, something that very few people could answer truly. A false answer would result in imprisonment and quite possibly some sort of torture. Frank Longbottom was standing very close to James, wand ready – just in case James answered the question wrong. It was an easy question to answer, but as with every time Frank asked him that question, James hesitated for a second.

"Yes."

That was all James ever replied. One simple word: 'yes.' Only three other people knew the answer to that question, the first was his wife, Lily, the second was Frank, and the third was the werewolf. Only two people knew whom that werewolf was. James, however, was not a werewolf. The gleaming full moon overhead testified to that.

Frank relaxed, a cocky smile on his square, roguish face. He was waiting for James to ask his question. James picked something random; he liked to switch the questions about.

"What does Amortentia smell like to you?"

"Cinnamon, wet earth, and apricots. In other words: my wife."

James chuckled; they saluted each other, and slipped under the folds of invisibility cloaks. The Aurors worked in teams of two; the Chief had individually briefed each pair. The base in question was an old abandoned warehouse on the docks of Liverpool. When the appointed time came, Frank and James moved in. There were no signals, no communications allowed between the Auror teams – supposedly to avoid alerting the Death Eaters to their presence before the trap was sprung.

Of course, the trap was for them.

While taking cover behind a stack of crates, Frank and James exchanged spell fire with at least a dozen Death Eaters.

"Well," Frank said cheerfully, "guess that confirms the Chief as a Death-head."

"Yeah, it does!" James snapped in irritation, ducking back under the cover of the crates as a hex flew overhead. "They're trying to flank us! Why are you smiling? What the bloody hell is there to be smiling about?"

Frank only grinned wider at his young partner's fear and agitation, and confidently replied; "Alice is coming."

They staged a nearly blood-less coupe in the Auror department, the only casualty was the Chief, who took his own life rather than be taken alive. In the end, Alastor Moody was picked by Head of Magical Law Enforcement Bartimus Crouch to replace the old Chief. Life went on, and once more, James returned home to Lily and his children.

***

_CRACK! Thud._

Poppet Apparated into the living room, her thin arms wrapped around the bloody neck of a young man barely into adulthood.

"MASTER! MASTER! Poppet has brought him! He is dying! MASTER! MASTER!" Poppet yelled. "HELP! MASTER!"

"Poppet, quit your bellowing," scolded the portrait of an old woman with the look of once great beauty now faded. "You'll wake the children."

"Apologizing Poppet is, Mistress Dorea," Poppet rolled her crystal blue eyes heavenward.

Five other paintings _harrumphed_ in agreement with Dorea; three were of old men, the other two of old women.

James came galloping down the stairs and barrelled around the corner into the living room. He skidded to a stop beside Poppet.

"Poppet, what happened?"

"No time for explaining, or he be dying."

"Right," James quickly surveyed the damage; the young man was struggling to breathe, for his throat had been torn as though bitten by some savage animal. Jagged gouges traced across his face, and shredded through his black robes. His right eye had been completely torn out and a great deal of the surrounding flesh was missing as well. "Bloody Hell, Poppet… what happened? You were supposed to be keeping him out of trouble!"

"Poppet was trying! Only so much she can be doing, Master," the diminutive house-elf protested. Small scratches ran over her baldhead, and a bruise was appearing over one eye.

"Of course, of course. Sorry, Poppet. How did you get him in here anyway… the house is under the Fidelius Charm…"

"Master told Poppet to bring him here if he was in trouble. So Poppet brought him here," Poppet grumbled.

James shook his head in disbelief.

"Well, Grandson, if you're going to save him, you'd better hurry," the portrait of Dorea snapped. "He's absolutely saturated in Dark magic, do exactly as I tell you, and he will live."

"Yes, Grandmother," James replied automatically. He followed the instructions the portrait gave him without question. The curses now fusing with the young man could not be removed, but they could be shaped and moved. Under orders from his grandmother's portrait James rolled and twisted the Dark magic into one spot in the young man's body – his empty right eye socket. Once Lily emerged from the main kitchen, she aided James, employing powerful healing magic to close the gaping wounds. When they were finished, the youth's body was crisscrossed with scars and a sinister ball of green light burned in the dark hollow of his right eye socket.

He blinked open his good left eye, opened his mouth and tried to speak. The only sound he made was a rough, broken gasp.

"It's okay, Regulus. You're among friends," Lily said gently. "You're going to be okay."

James left Lily to comfort the quavering boy; he had a couple of calls to make. He turned to the Two-way Mirror on the wall.

"Mirror, Mirror on the wall, I would like to make a call. He is the keeper of Gringotts' money book, the one I seek is Griphook," said James to the mirror.

The surface swirled and the face of Griphook appeared.

"Ah, Mr. James Potter, what can I do for you?" the goblin asked.

"I need a favour. A carriage out of England, for a friend."

"You know the cost, are you willing to pay it?"

"I am. You've access to take what you require from my vault."

Griphook nodded.

"Consider it done. The carriage will arrive at precisely twenty minutes past the eleventh hour. Be ready to leave."

"Thank you, Griphook. Oh, and my house-elf will be coming with some portraits and things I want to store for the time being. I should like you to allow her access to the vaults as well."

"It shall be done. It's always a pleasure doing business with you, James Potter. Good luck to you."

The Mirror returned to normal, reflecting the image of James and the room behind him.

***

Albus Dumbledore came to visit the Potters as winter rapidly approached. The children were playing quietly on the floor, or in Harry's case, just above it on a miniature broomstick. Lily sat across the coffee table from Dumbledore, the new baby swaddled on her lap. Little Iris Rose Potter had been born a month and a half ago on the twenty-ninth of August. The wizened Wizard watched the children with blue twinkling eyes while James made tea and hot scones in the kitchen.

James set the tray on the coffee table.

"Ah," Dumbledore sighed appreciatively taking a bite of the scones. "These are quite good, but not quite as wonderful as Poppet's. Where is your house-elf these days James? I haven't seen her around."

"Poppet… is doing something for me…" James said evasively. "But, what brings you here, Dumbledore? What's going on?"

"Voldemort is seeking you, both of you, Lily and James," Dumbledore said. James and Lily didn't flinch at the mention of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, they were used to Dumbledore's blatant disregard for the Taboo on _his_ name. It did not really matter anyway, because _he_ was afraid of Dumbledore and would not attack while the old wizard was around.

"He seeks everyone who opposes him, Dumbledore," James replied blandly. "That's nothing new."

"Both you and Lily have defied him thrice."

"So have Frank and Alice."

"James, please try to understand the seriousness of this situation. It is more than just you and Lily that he seeks. He seeks the death of your son as well."

Lily gasped, rapidly twisting about in her seat to look at Harry, almost as if she had expected him to be suddenly snatched away.

James paused with a scone halfway to his mouth; he flipped the pastry nervously in his fingers, and then set it down on the saucer.

"Why? Why would _he_ be after a _baby?_" James asked.

Dumbledore stroked his long silver beard, "I'm not sure how much to tell you… no. No, that is wrong of me. I must tell you, because you _must_ understand how important you have become, not only to the Order, but to England, and mayhap the entire world."

James and Lily exchanged a look of undiluted scepticism.

Impervious to their doubt, Dumbledore forged on, "A little more than a year ago, I was hosting an interview to fill the position of Divinations Instructor at Hogwarts, and while I am often doubtful about the abilities of many so-called Seers, Professor Trelawney does genuinely have _some_ prophetic ability. She spoke a prophecy – a true prophecy – about a baby who will be born at the end of July, a baby who will be able to defeat the Dark Lord."

"And he believes that that baby is Harry?" said Lily.

Solemnly, Dumbledore nodded.

"James, we have to leave England."

"And we'll be hunted to the ends of the earth if we do," James frowned. "We _can't_ run. We have to disappear."

Lily held Iris just a little bit closer, casting anxious glances over the twins.

Sirius, and Dumbledore arrived the next day the supplies to cast the spell, a small incense burner and various packets of rare spices. While Dumbledore set up the necessary components on the coffee table, Sirius pulled James aside to talk.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this, Prongs?" Sirius said.

"I have little choice, Padfoot, I have my family to think of."

Sirius nodded. "I'm not knocking you for it. Wouldn't dream of it." He shuffled his feet a bit, "But I was just thinking, I'm your best friend right?" James nodded and Sirius continued, "So everyone is gonna figure you'd pick me for Secret Keeper, right?" Again, James nodded and Sirius continued, "What if we let everyone believe that, but have Wormy or Moony do it?"

"Dumbledore say's there is an informer in the Order. Someone who's been playing both sides," said James, "and both Moony and Wormtail..."

"Moony's infiltrating the 'wolves, and Wormy's just being Wormy… you know how he is."

"He did disappear for a long time back then, Sirius. And nobody's been able to figure out _where_ he went or how he ended up like he did."

Sirius frowned thoughtfully.

"Maybe I should just do it," James sighed. "That would eliminate any chance…"

"You'd have to give up being an Auror," Sirius said bluntly. "You'd have to stay put until the war was over. Could you do that, Prongs?"

James shook his head, and sighed.

Sirius pulled three small ties of hair from his pocket, one was pale blonde, the other light brown, and the third was black. "Then you have to choose which one of us you want. I'm just thinking you'd be safer using me as a decoy, instead of the real deal. That's all."

James studied the locks of hair, and after a moment, plucked the blond lock from Sirius' fingers. "Moony's in enough danger as is, and… Dumbledore won't pull him from the field for anything. He's the only 'wolf we have on our side. Peter might like being able to stay out of the way… yeah… I think he'd like that… wouldn't he?"

Sirius shrugged.

"Should we tell Dumbledore?" James mused.

"Why bother? What's the point of using a decoy if you tell everyone it's a fake? He's too busy burning spices… he won't notice if the hair you throw in isn't black."

James nodded. Sirius' logic was sound enough.

* * *

_**Peter**_

"Peter, Peter," said the Dark Lord. "You are hiding things from me. You are lying to me."

Surrounded by the opulence of a grand manor house, the Dark Lord held court with his most faithful and trusted Death Eaters, the staunchest and most fanatical members of his army – The Inner Circle. Peter now knew them all by name, Lucius Malfoy, Rodolphus Lestrange, his wife Bellatrix, his brother Rabastan, Severus Snape, Jack Avery, Jeffery Goyle, Alexander Crabbe, Igor Karkaroff, Walden Mcnair, and Simon Nott.

"N-no, my Lord! I am not! I swear!" Peter simpered.

"Where are the Potters?"

Peter Pettigrew sobbed into the decadent Persian carpet at his Lord's feet. Time and time again, the Dark Lord had ripped information from Peter's mind by force. Now, Peter's mind was almost too broken to stave off the intrusions, the Dark Lord could have any information he wanted that way – except for the location of the Potters' home. The Secret Keeper had to _speak_ for the secret to be given.

"Send for Greyback," the Dark Lord commanded.

The door opened, and closed. Some time later, it opened again.

Peter smelt him long before he saw him. Fenrir Greyback, self-proclaimed Leader of the Pack, a big, rangy man with snarled greying hair and whiskers.

"Hail the Dark Lord, Master of Chaos and example to us all," Greyback said, bowing low. "How may I be of service to you, my Lord?"

The Dark Lord placed a hand gently on Peter's head, stroking the fine pale hair almost lovingly – like a mother soothing a frightened child.

"Kill Remus Lupin," commanded the Dark Lord. Peter startled, rising off his knees. The Dark Lord clenched his fist, twisting his long fingers in Peter's hair and yanking hard. Peter yelped.

Greyback laughed – a rough, barking sound that was reminiscent of a large dog.

"Remus Lupin? Well, I guess I could."

"N-no! Don't!" Peter pulled free from the Dark Lord's grip and grovelled. "Not Moony, please!"

"I can still recant my order, Peter. But why should I? Peter, Peter," the Dark Lord sighed, "Why do you bother to try protecting them? They're not really your friends…" the Dark Lord's voice was soft, and soothing. "They never really included you, did they?"

Peter sniffled into the carpet.

"Do they ever tell you how valuable you are, like I do?" the Dark Lord continued. "Peter, you have been my most valued informer, my cause has been strengthened so much by your inclusion to my team."

Mutely Peter screwed his eyes shut, waggling his head.

"Was it not _Moony_ who included you in that little troupe – the Marauders? Was it not _Moony_ who saw the worth in poor, fat, stupid Peter? If any of your so-called friends were worth saving, would it not be _Moony_?"

"NO!" Peter wailed. "I'm their friend! They're all my friends! J-James trusts me! Sirius trusts me!"

"He trusts you? Peter, how can you be so sure of that?" The Dark Lord walked in a slow circle around Peter, circling like a vulture. "You've been sidelined, shoved aside for those more capable."

"It was for my protection," Peter sniffled, the location of the Potter's house burned in his mind, but he kept his mouth shut. _Damn Sirius. I didn't want this. Why are they making me do this? Why couldn't they have just left me out of this? Why couldn't they have seen what happened? Why weren't they paying more attention to what I was doing? Why didn't they notice?_

"And just why would you need protection, Peter? Is it because your friends think you're too stupid, too lazy, and too worthless to take care of yourself? Or – " The Dark Lord paused directly in front of Peter's quivering nose. " – is it because you are the Potters' Secret Keeper and you have indeed been lying to me all this time?"

Peter lifted his eyes, barely conscious of the tears now staining the fine, dark leather of the Dark Lord's boots. He whimpered. He wanted to obey; he really did want to believe the soft promises of the Dark Lord. At the same time he wanted to believe in his friends, wanted to believe that everything the Dark Lord said was a lie.

"Save yourself the pain, Peter, and tell me what I want to know," the Dark Lord whispered soothingly, looking down into Peter's watery eyes, his voice carrying a faint edge. "Bella is getting sick of your pathetic display, can you not see the anger and hate in her eyes… if you do not tell me what I want to know…"

Peter hung his head.

The Dark Lord sighed, "Bella…"

"NO! D-don't let her hurt me! I'll tell you!" Peter crackled, sobbing into the Dark Lord's boots. "Th – th – they are – are at n- n - number n- nine… L-lion's R-Ruh-Road…G-G-G-G-G-G-G-G-Godric-c-c-c's Huh –huh –Holl- o- ow."

"Number Nine, Lion's Road, Godric's Hollow?" The Dark Lord repeated.

Dumbly, Peter nodded, hot tears of shame running down his cheeks. It wasn't his fault.

"Thank-you, Peter, you have proven your worth to me once again," the Dark Lord murmured. He casually tipped his head towards Greyback. "Either the Werewolf called Lupin joins us or dies by weeks end."

Greyback bowed, and walked out of the room.

* * *

_**Frank**_

"Well, well," Frank Longbottom mused, taking a seat in a plain wooden chair in front of a bound and kneeling prisoner. "Mr Mulciber. What are we going to do with you?"

The Death Eater launched a wad of spittle into Frank's face.

Casually, Frank fetched a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped his face.

"There's no need for that," said Frank. "I just want to have a little chat."

Mucliber sneered.

"Fine," Frank sighed, "We can do this the hard way." The Auror lifted Mulciber's chin and looked into his eyes. _'Legimens'_. There was a brief struggle, as Mulciber resisted the intrusion, then brief flashes flickered across Frank's awareness. Images of Remus Lupin locked in a cage, Greyback, and a forest near a deep gorge.

"What was that? Where is Lupin?" Frank demanded.

Mulciber merely laughed.

Shaken, Frank left the room, and sent a message to Dumbledore.

* * *

_**Peter**_

"Happy Halloween, James," Peter tittered, nervously glancing around the rather untidy kitchen of the Potter household.

"Hmm? Oh, Happy Halloween, Peter," James said in a daze. With a sigh, James slumped down in a worn wooden chair and plunked his head down on the scrubbed tabletop. "Is it really Halloween already?"

"Yes," said Peter, "it is." Softly Peter placed a hand on James' shoulder, "Don't worry old friend," he said, "it will all be over soon."

James looked up at Peter curiously, and opened his mouth as though to ask a question, but was cut off by the tortured wailing of Iris. James' shoulders slumped, his eyelids drooped just a little bit lower. He sighed, and laboriously heaved himself out of his chair.

"It's my turn to settle her… Lily's still trying to get some sleep… I'll be back in a moment… sorry…"

"Oh," Peter said quickly, "Not a problem."

As soon as James left the kitchen, Peter scurried over to the refrigerator, and peered at the neat row of formula bottles. Lily, like any good potioneer, had then all neatly colour coordinated with different coloured rings, blue for breakfast, yellow for lunch and red for dinner. He quickly unscrewed the tops of the three red bottles, added a few drops of the Drought of Living Death, re-fastened the tops, shook the bottles vigorously, and put them back in the fridge. It wouldn't hurt them, Peter thought, if he'd calculated correctly, the potion would just make the children ill enough that Lily and James would take them to St. Mungo's. Then they wouldn't be at the house when the Dark Lord showed up to kill them. Then Peter would come back and destroy the house so that Lily and James would have to move again. And then Peter would go live in a sewer somewhere in New York.

It wasn't the best plan Peter had ever come up with, but it should have worked.

* * *

_**Rose**_

Rose Evans sat snuggled under an afghan, drinking tea and reading a book, in her cozy suburban London townhouse, ignoring the droning voice of the six o'clock news announcer.

"Mum. Mum are you there?" a panicked voice echoed dimly down the hall. "Mum, answer me, please."

Rose looked up from her book, momentarily baffled, then scrambled off the couch and down the hall to the ornate mirror that hung in the foyer above the catchall table for letters and gloves.

Rose looked into the mirror, noting with minor reservation the grey streaking through her chestnut-coloured hair, and the wrinkles around her emerald eyes.

"Mum? Mum where are you? Answer me," the voice said again, clearly coming out of the mirror.

Rose licked her lips and gingerly reached out to touch the mirror. Her reflection swirled and the face of her daughter, Lily, appeared in its place.

"I'm here, Lily, what's wrong?" Rose asked, slightly awed at the mirror.

"I need you and Daddy to come watch Harry for a while," Lily said in a near panic.

"What's wrong dear?"

"I have to take Iris and Wistaria to the hospital, something is horribly wrong." Tears formed in Lily's eyes, and she wrung her hands.

"What happened?"

"Something must have been wrong with their formula, they started acting oddly after their dinner… James dropped Harry's bottle, it broke, and he's fine."

"Its all right, dear. Will the teapot still work?"

Lily nodded, "Did Wormy tell you where the house was?"

"Yes dear, he came by yesterday. We'll see you soon. Not a moment to waste."

Lily breathed a sigh of relief and disappeared from the mirror. The mirror stood blank for a second, then Rose's image returned to the surface.

"Eric! ERIC! We've got to go to Lily's to watch Harry for a while!" Rose shouted up the stairs, and headed to the kitchen. When Eric joined her they stood around a fine china teapot sitting untouched on the counter.

"On three…" said Eric. "One, two… three!"

They laid their hands on the teapot, and Rose felt a tug just behind her navel. Everything seemed to condense and go swirling into the teapot. The next moment Eric and Rose were standing in the kitchen of Lily and James' house.

Lily and James were there, each one holding one of their two girls in their arms. The children looked very pale, with blue tinges on their cheeks and lips. Harry was strapped securely in his high chair, clearly becoming agitated about being held still for so long.

"Harry's finished his dinner," James said as soon as they arrived. "We'll be back as soon as we can."

Then, he and Lily disappeared with a loud _crack._

Rose shook her head slightly in amazement, and released Harry from the high chair. He was heavy, and getting big. Rose lamented that her daughter lived in such a different world, and as such, she rarely ever got to see her grandchildren. Except for that brat Dudley. She could already tell that Petunia was hopelessly spoiling that child. To each their own, Rose thought, smiling brightly at Harry, waggling her head and rubbing noses with him, to which she was rewarded with a delighted giggle. Rose and Eric played with Harry for about an hour before Rose took him upstairs to be bathed and put to bed.

Eric was feeling uneasy, restless, something wasn't right. There was a tension in the air that was almost palpable.

Eric wandered around the main floor of his daughter's house and found that a silver mirror had been curiously left out of place on the coffee table.

Gazing into his own reflection, Eric idly thought about his son-in-law. James was a good boy, a little rough around the edges, but being a husband and a father would have that smoothed over in no time. The lad did have a dangerous job, maybe next time James came around Eric would talk to him about finding a more suitable profession for a father of three. The more Eric thought about James, the more the face in the mirror began to look like James.

"Must be some sort of magic mirror," Eric reasoned, as he usually did when something of Lily's did something odd. He was not overly worried, if the mirror had been dangerous, Lily would not have left it in a place where it could easily be grabbed by young hands. Grinning he took the mirror upstairs to Rose.

"James!" Rose said happily, "Your back, are the girls alright?"

Eric laughed. "Rose, It's me. Eric. I found some crazy mirror that makes you look like the person you're thinking about."

"Don't josh with me, James."

"I'm not joshing, Rose. Look, here. Just look in the mirror and think about someone else."

Rose rolled her eyes and looked into the mirror, and thought about her daughter, Lily. She gasped in surprise as her reflection altered to take on the features of her daughter.

"It really does! Oh! How amazing!"

Eric and Rose laughed.

"You look lovely Rose. Lily always did take after you, you look just like you did when we got married."

"And you look nothing like yourself."

Eric shrugged, and looked down into the crib, where his grandson was sitting quietly, but stubbornly refusing to settle down to sleep. "And how is my grandson?" Eric asked the boy, beaming.

Harry tilted his head to the side in confusion, then squealed happily and held his hands out to his grandfather. Eric laughed, and swung Harry up out of the crib. They played airplanes and horses, laughing and squealing until Harry's eyes began to droop and Eric set him back down in the crib.

Rose smiled knowingly at her husband, and tucked Harry in.

Eric smiled and headed quietly down the stairs.

No Trick-or-Treaters came to the door. Eric-as-James watched the passer-by in the streets outside from the windows. Adults and children passed by the house as though they could not see it, Eric suspected they couldn't, one of those magic things, like that old pub, The Leakey Caldron they'd had to take Lily through to get her school books years ago.

The front door suddenly opened and Eric-as-James dashed to the front foyer. The intruder was calmly closing the front door behind himself, before turning to regard Eric-as-James with cruel, red, slit-pupiled eyes. His skin was pale as milk and drawn tight across his face. The man was Voldemort, Eric was sure of it. No other being in England could possibly exude such an aura of evil.

"Darling! It's _him!_ Get out of here!" Eric-as-James bellowed. Hopefully the teapot would still work. Voldemort raised his wand, Eric-as-James let out a primal scream and rushed the Dark Lord.

"_Avada Kadavra_."

There was a brilliant flash of green light, and a noise like a mighty rushing wind hurtling towards Eric-as-James. The light and the wind passed over him, his heart stopped, and he fell to the ground, dead.

Lord Voldemort walked over his body to reach the stairs.

Upstairs, Rose-as-Lily had been quietly straightening out the mess of toys strewn across the nursery floor. She heard Eric's desperate warning, and knew that there was no time to flee. Rose slammed closed the door, locked it from the inside and rushed back to Harry. Harry awoke with a start, making small noises of distress and reaching towards what appeared to be his mother for comfort. Rose-as-Lily was standing in front of his crib when the door to the nursery, unlocked, and opened.

"I want the boy," hissed Voldemort.

"You can't have him. I won't let you," Rose-as-Lily defied him.

"Get out of my way, woman. I will kill you."

"No. I will not be moved," Rose-as-Lily defied him again. She stood fully facing him, serene in her acceptance of what was to come.

"You do not belong here, surrender the child and return to where you belong."

"I am where I belong, between you and Harry," defied Rose-as-Lily for the third time.

_'I told you, Daughter, what I would do if I had the chance. You begged us to leave. You told us this war was not for us. I cannot work magic, cannot weave wonders as you do, but I do what I can. When all else fails, to stand between those I love and death.'_ Rose-as-Lily did not look away from her death; her daughter would not hear her last good-bye. _"May my last gift to you be life."_

Voldemort sighed. He didn't notice the rose-gold light building up within Rose's chest.

"Very well. Have it your way. _Avada Kadavra_."

The burst of green light triggered a weaker flash of rose-gold light, and Rose Evans died with a smile.

"Such a pity," Voldemort tisked, stepping over Rose-as-Lily's body. "Your death has changed nothing. The boy will still die."

Voldemort paused to study the object of his long quest. The boy had grown large, nearly big enough to see over the bars of his crib. It was of no matter now, he would soon be dead, and Voldemort would have to worry about him no longer.

"_Avada Kadavra_."

* * *

_**James**_

Iris and Wistaria slept quietly in the small hospital beds. The rosy flush returned to their cheeks, and lips. Lily softly stroked Wistaria's dark hair, and kissed Iris' red curls. They were going to be all right. Smiling softly in relief, James kissed each of his daughters.

While he waited for a Healer to return and give the all clear that the girls were free to go, James pulled a pair of letter from his pocket. He had shoved them there in the mix up of the girls' illness, and had yet to read them.

One was from his sister Lenore.

_The snake has the rat in its coils, and the dog is chasing the rat. Beware of betrayal, lest the snake take them both._

James sighed; his sister had the gift of Sight, but rarely ever received a premonition early enough to effectively warn anyone. And she had the same bad habit as most Seers of talking in symbols and riddles.

The second letter was written in tiny, crapped handwriting.

_The Dark Lord and found your Secret Keeper, and broke his mind. I would suggest leaving immediately, if not sooner._

_P.S Greyback will kill Lupin unless he joins the Dark Lord. I probably wouldn't trust him the next time you meet him._

James gaped at the letter, hardly believing what he was seeing. He showed the last letter to Lily.

Lily paled, "Oh no! Harry! My parents! James you have to go get them!"

A blazing alarm went off inside James' head. "The alarms gone off at the house," he said. "We're too late."

"You don't know that for certain! There may still be a chance."

James nodded, and Dissapparated.

He Apparated into the backyard, and was immediately rocked back on his heels by what he saw. The house was on fire and much of one side had been blown off. That was where the nursery should have been. James screamed for Harry, for Eric, and for Rose. There was no answer.

He blasted in the back door and clamoured over the rubble. He passed through the kitchen and as he ran down the hall to the front foyer he saw something that nearly convinced him he had gone mad. James was lying dead on the floor.

_'This isn't really happening…'_

Cautiously James crept closer to his body, a hand was lying on the chest. It was the left hand, and there were two rings, a gold wedding band and another, a heavy man's ring with a knobbly blue stone set into it. The ring brought clarity to the confusion. James knew that ring. It belonged to Eric. Polyjuice potion then, or transfiguration, _or the mirror of disguise you stupidly left on the coffee table…_James' Auror training kicked in, and the little voice of logic grew stronger. Eric was here, that meant Harry and Rose were most likely as well. Panicking would not find them if they were alive. Calm was best. Turn off the emotions and act, quickly and efficiently. There was no point in going up the stairs, as James had intended to do before he'd found 'himself' dead, because the nursery had collapsed into the living room.

He had to force his way past smouldering, twisted floorboards to get into the room. The children's cribs were scorched and deformed. James riffled through the mess, searching for some clue as to what happened. He found Lily half covered by a pair of empty black robes. She was dead. James touched her cooling skin, hands shaking he brushed back her lustrous red hair.

_'Earrings… Lily wasn't wearing earrings. They're cute… little glass roses…just like the ones I gave to Rose last Christmas…'_

"Rose…" James croaked hoarsely. So both Rose and Eric had been toying with the mirror. And Voldemort had mistaken the helpless muggles for his quarry. He shifted through the rubble, shoving aside pieces of lumber, smouldering toys and twisted nursery furniture. Harry was not in the house. Quick stepping over the mess to the shattered front window James saw two figures arguing out in the street. One was twice the size of the other in height and breadth, Hagrid the Half Giant, and the other was James' best friend, Sirius. Sirius looked distraught, holding his hands out to Hagrid as though asking for something. The wind carried a few snatches of their conversation.

"Give him to me, Hagrid, I'm his godfather," Sirius said.

"Sorry, Sirius, I can't. Orders from Dumbledore, y' see. I'm t' take Harry t' a safe place."

Sirius raked his hand through his hair, glancing fervertavly about. The pain was evident on his tortured face, the shine of tears sparkled on his cheeks.

"Take my bike. I won't be needing it again," Sirius said at last, and Dissapartated.

James didn't make it out into the street before Hagrid had Sirius' bike in the air. In the distance, James heard the _pops _and _cracks _of other Apparitions. One such crack resounded behind him. He whirled about – right into the wild-eyed gaze of Bellatrix Lestrange. Before she could raise her wand James Dissapparated.

* * *

**_Lupin_**

Smoking torches dimly lit Greyback's cavern, shadows danced along the rough granite walls, and through the heavy iron bars of Remus' cage. Greyback kept a Spartan house, there was a rough pallet on the floor, a crude woollen blanket, and a hollow in the floor served as hearth, piled around it were a few dirty pots and water jars. A solitary, rickety table escorted by a lone stool was more of a junk landing than a place for eating. Remus' wand was up on that table, along with the keys to his pen.

For the hundredth time in his week of captivity Remus stretched his arm out through the bars. The table was hopelessly out of reach, the werewolf didn't know why he kept trying, only that as the week drew on, and the moon drew closer to full, Remus grew more anxious to be free. The full moon was tomorrow, and he _needed_ to get out of this pen. He _had_ to break free. Shoulder pressed against the bars Remus stretched until he felt the strain in his muscles.

"_Accio wand. Accio_! Damnit!" Remus growled. Of course, nothing happened. With a noise that was half howl-half growl, Remus threw himself bodily against the bars.

Greyback walked in laughing.

"Looks like someone is finally taking the muzzle off the beast inside," Greyback cackled. He squatted down just outside of Remus' reach. Greyback grinned, showing his large, pointed canines. "Have you finally realized what you are?"

"I know what I am!" Remus growled. "That doesn't mean I have to live like an animal! Let me go, Greyback," he clenched the bars in a white-knuckled grip. "Let me out."

"Oh, I'll let you out, Remus. The Packs' here to see you."

Remus blinked, the Pack was assembled before the full moon. That was never a good omen. As the members of the Pack filtered into the living part of Greyback's cave, Greyback snatched the keys off the table. When everyone was assembled, young and old alike, Greyback tossed the keys to Remus.

"If you want out, open the door."

Remus fumbled with the keys.

"Will you run with us tomorrow?" Greyback asked casually.

It was a baited question. Remus never ran with the Pack during the full moon. Among the ferals that made up the Pack were many who did not always run, but everyone had at some point. Everyone except him. The thought of shedding human blood made Remus sick, he always locked himself away during the full moon to prevent himself from injuring or killing someone. He hesitated with the lock.

"I can't," Remus said.

Greyback nodded. The faces of many of the werewolves he considered to be friends fell.

"I'm sorry," said Remus turning the key in the lock. The sharp _click_ seemed to echo in the eerily silent cave.

"Please reconsider," said one of the Pack.

"Remus," Greyback said, suddenly very serious, "you're as good as my child – " Remus snarled. " – and one of the few of us that can work magic. Its time you gave up that lone wolf gig and joined the Pack like a proper wolf."

"We need you, Remus," said another. "The Pack isn't complete without you."

"Run with us, just once. You might like it," said another. It was Sansa, a wild, beautiful woman and secretly Remus' fiancée. She had joined the Pack to protect him, and run with them when he would not. Sansa did not share the Pack's anger towards humans, but she did love to run.

Remus crawled out of the low pen, his knees cracking when he stood upright for the first time in a week. Sansa rushed to embrace him. He held her, breathing in the smell of earth and pine from her untameable mane of tawny hair.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, releasing Sansa. The look in her eyes nearly broke his heart. Dark, soulful and wide, Sansa's eyes begged him to say what he could not. Sansa's eyes told him what would happen next.

"Not as sorry as we are," said Greyback from somewhere behind Remus. "Kill him."

***

Remus crawled, tripped, stumbled, limped his way forward – over rocks and roots, hard earth that tore up his nails. He pulled himself along with the few fingers that weren't broken, kicking and scrambling. A blood-curdling scream echoed off not far in the distance – Sansa had just paid the price for allowing him to escape. She had drawn them off, and the Pack had caught up with her first. Remus did not doubt they would soon reach him.

The edge of a steep ravine loomed just beyond the next line of trees. Remus pulled himself up, and stumbling from tree to tree, came to the edge of the ravine. It was a long way down to the bottom, a trip filled with loose, jagged rock and brambles.

"Give up, Lupin," growled Greyback as the Pack broke through the trees. "You can't outrun us. Make it easy on yourself."

"I can't," said Remus, he half-turned so he was looking at Greyback and the others. "You must understand, I just can't. I am… sorry. I wish I could belong with you… but I just can't."

"You can't protect them anymore Lupin!" Greyback growled. "By now the Dark Lord has already killed the Potters, and Black will be dealt with soon! Join us and live!" He lunged forward.

A small smile played upon Remus' cut and bleeding lips, peace filled his golden eyes. Remus let himself fall sideways over the edge of the ravine. He tumbled and slid, skidded and bounced all the way down. A flock of wintering birds bated and took to the sky as he tore into the trees at the bottom.

Greyback and the others watched his dissent dispassionately.

"Let's go," said Greyback when no movement could be seen in the trees below and the birds settled back into the trees. "He's dead."

* * *

_**Dumbledore**_

The ash in the pit was still warm, and the cage was empty. Dumbledore frowned as he inspected the empty cavern that was home to Fenrir Greyback. There were signs of an intense struggle that had left the cavern, as many as twenty others had been in pursuit of two. Following the trail, the ancient wizard came upon the body of a young tawny hair woman. She lay in the middle of a small break in the trees, surrounded by churned up dirt, blood and broken trees. Sorrowful he touched her blood encrusted cheek. The body was cool. She had died several hours ago. Murmuring an apology to her, Dumbledore moved on.

His tracking led him a short while later to the edge of a ravine, and the trail ended there.

"Hmmmm," said Dumbledore, crystal blue eyes sweeping over the steep slopes of the ravine. "Could he have? Perhaps." Employing a simple spell, Dumbldore floated down into the trees at the bottom of the ravine.

A broken mess of what might have been a man lay crumpled and curled around the base of a large tree. Dumbledore ran to him, and gingerly turned him to see his face.

"Remus?" Dumbledore whispered. The man was barely breathing.

The man groaned, and half-opened one of his honey-gold eyes. "Dumbledore?" he slurred.

"It's alright, Remus. I'm here. You're safe now."

"Just let me die," Remus coughed, and closed his eye.

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. He gathered Remus in his arms, and Dissappartated.

* * *

_**James**_

James Apparated back to the hospital. Lily only had to look at his face to know. Her whole body caved under the weight of her despair.

"The house was destroyed, Lily… and… your parents are dead," James said quietly. Lily just stared at her husband in shock for a long moment, then quietly started to cry. Tears flowed down her cheeks in a steady stream, dripping off her chin and onto the floor. James wrapped his arms about her, enfolding her in a gentle embrace. He held her like that for a long time. "I was seen. Bellatrix saw me."

"What about Harry? What happened to Harry?" Lily sniffed.

"He's alive, Hagrid has him. Dumbledore has a safe place for him."

Lily started to laugh and cry at the same time, overwhelmed by relief and sorrow.

"You need to take the children and get out of England. Bellatrix knows I'm alive and she's going to come after me, I know it. She's insane."

"What about my parents? I… I'll have to arrange a funeral…"

"Your sister can handle the details…"

"Petunia? Is 'Tuney all right? Have you seen her?"

James shook his head. "Lily… please…"

"Alright, James… I'll go. How will you find us again?"

"My parents once had a ski cabin in Switzerland, it's been out of use a long time, but it should be sound enough. The goblins can take you there. And if you can't stay there… Poppet will be able to find you."

The goblins arrived just before dawn. He talked briefly with the driver, an ancient goblin wrapped in black, only the ends of his ears and the tip of his long nose poked out from under his hat and scarf. The driver cracked the whip, and the team of six black horses sprang forward, pulling the carriage quickly out of sight.

Wormtail had been broken, and Moony was next, James knew he had to find Padfoot before his best friend did something really stupid.

James found him too late. Wormtail and Padfoot were arguing loudly in the streets of London, surrounded by a growing crowd of early rising muggles trying to get to work. James pressed through the crowd.

"PADFOOT! WORMY! STOP!" He bellowed. They didn't hear him, or they weren't listening.

James was close enough to see the tears in their eyes, and far enough away to see the 'Warning, Underground Gas Line' sign.

"You'll pay for what you've done, Wormtail," Sirius pulled his wand, a wild look in his eyes.

"S-S-Sirius… Lily and James… How c-could you –" Peter stuttered.

James never did hear what Peter was trying to say, because Sirius screamed, and the street exploded.

Most of the muggles including James were knocked to the ground. Sirius was laughing, standing over a large, smoking crater. Peter was gone.

_'Sirius… how could you?'_ James struggled to rise, his ears ringing from the blast. _'He's gone mad! Completely mad! The whole world has gone mad!'_ James shook his head, trying to clear the ringing from his ears. He couldn't believe what he'd just seen, Sirius had killed Peter – destroyed him. There was nothing left, just a smoking hole in the ground. He had to find Harry.

James' pocket Two-Way Mirror had been broken when he fell. He now had no way of contacting anyone in the Order. He Appartated to the Shrieking Shack and took the tunnel to Hogwarts. Once inside the castle James made a beeline for Dumbledore's office. The gargoyle jumped out of the way when given the password (blood lollies) and James took the stairs in fours. He stopped outside the door; inside Snape and Dumbledore were talking.

More accurately, Snape was crying, and Dumbledore was doing a very poor job of consoling him. The aged wizard spoke nothing but the truth, but at a time like this the truth only mocked the anguished potions Professor. Dumbledore lamented that Snape, like James and Lily, had placed his trust in the wrong person. Snape had asked Voldemort to spare Lily, and Dumbledore to save them all. James had never felt like such a bloody arrogant wanker in his entire life. Snape risked his own life in coming to Dumbledore, revealing he was a Death Eater, and begged for Lily's life – even James' life, and the lives of the children from two different people, despite the long and bitter hatred between James and the Potions Master.

Ear pressed against the door, James heard everything. His head reeled. Dumbledore was going to send Harry to family. The boy would be protected enough there until James could be certain it was safe to go get him. The young Auror did not know what to do; he needed guidance, and had no idea whom he could trust anymore. He wanted to talk with Dumbledore, but he did not want to have to face Snape at that exact moment. The last person James wanted to see him crying was Snape. And, James knew that nothing would ever possibly be made right between them if Snape _ever _discovered that James had heard _him_ crying. The only other person James could think of was his Auror partner, Frank.

* * *

_**Snape**_

The pain in his heart threatened to send him across the Styx; Snape was bent over double, leaning on Dumbledore's desk for support.

"You said that you would protect her!" The Potions Master yelled at Dumbledore.

"It seems that Lily and James put their faith in the wrong person. Much like you, didn't you have hopes that Voldemort would spare her?"

Snape could not find the words to reply. Dumbledore mocked him, telling him only Lily's son survived, and that the boy had Lily's eyes, exactly Lily's eyes. Lily had been his best friend for years – they'd drifted apart during the war, being on opposite sides and everything. But she'd even sent him a Christmas card last year, and a letter just after the twins' birthday with a little picture in it and everything, and another just after the birth of her third child. He knew _damn_ well that the twins had Lily's eyes.

"I wish…I wish _I_ were dead…" Severus choked out, his breathing shallow and choppy.

"What good would that do anyone?" said Dumbledore pitilessly. "If you ever truly cared for Lily Evans, then your way forward is clear. Help me protect her son."

Severus peered at Dumbledore through a haze of pain. The Headmaster's words took a long time to sink in.

"From what? The Dark Lord is gone… vanished…"

" – The Dark Lord will return, and Harry Potter will be in terrible danger when he does."

Slowly Severus regained control of himself, and mastered his own breathing. At last he said, "Very well. Very well. But never – never tell, Dumbledore! This must be between us! Swear it! I cannot bear… especially Potter's son… I want your word!"

"My word, Severus, that I shall never reveal the best of you?" Dumbledore sighed, looking down into Snape's ferocious, anguished face. "If you insist…"

"Where will you take him?" Snape interjected suddenly.

"To his family of course, he will be safe there until the time comes for him attend school."

"I tried to warn them, Dumbledore. I tried!" Snape howled. "Too little… too late." Tears caught in a lump in his throat, and Snape had to fight to control himself once more.

Dumbledore said nothing; he just let the heart-sore man cry out his pain in peace.

* * *

_**Frank**_

Frank had never thought he'd see James Potter alive again, when much to his surprise, James Potter appeared in the garden. The scar at the base of his neck on the left side was proof enough to Frank that the despondent young man in his azaleas was indeed James Potter. Frank listened to the whole story, from Sirius' failed bluff, to eavesdropping on Dumbledore and Snape. James clearly did not know what to do next.

"If Bellatrix saw you," Frank said when the tale was finished, "Then you have to get out of England."

"But what about my son?"

"If you go to him, you'll lead the Death Eaters straight to him. You can't take them all on by yourself. You'd just end up dead," said Frank. "You said you had a sister that lives in Spain. Why don't you go there?"

"If going to Harry would put him in danger, then going to Lenore would put her in danger. I can't go to anyone… I shouldn't have even come here…"

"No," Frank said sternly, "you did right by coming here. I'll tell you why: you need someone to keep an eye on where Dumbledore hid your boy and someone to tell you when it's safe for you to return. I can do that for you."

James ran a nervous hand though his dishevelled hair and nodded. "How will you find me again?"

"I'm in fairly good standing with the goblins, I should be able to pay someone to deliver a message. Goblins are more reliable than owls, they may take longer, but they don't require an address."

"Thank you, Frank… I really don't know if I can thank you enough for your help."

"Just promise me you won't get impatient and come back before I call you," Frank said with a smile.

"I'll wait. I promise. Good-bye, Frank," said James.

"Good-bye, James, take care of yourself."

Just when the chaos had begun to settle, and everyone was beginning to believe that it was safe at last, the Aurors were rounding up the last of the Death Eaters and trials were being held. Moody had kept the Aurors all hopping, always on the run. "Constant Vigilance!" Moody was fond of bellowing.

Frank had discretely managed to track down the location of Harry Potter – not using any of the standard Ministry channels, but by looking through Muggle registries for information of Lily's next of kin. The only living relative in England was listed as a Petunia (Evans) Dursley, of Number Four Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey. That done, all Frank had to do was wait until the most fanatical of You-Know-Who's followers were rounded up and incarcerated.

With James gone, Frank had gone back to working with his wife, Alice, leaving their son Neville in the competent and caring hands of his Gran.

The problem was that while Bellatrix Lestrange may have been crazy, she was not stupid. She knew that James Potter was alive, and that the Dark Lord could not die. She also knew that James had fled, and she knew that the young man held his older partner in great respect. So it really was not that hard for her to connect finding Frank Longbottom with finding James Potter with finding the Dark Lord.

So she laid a trap to capture Frank Longbottom. A slew of muggle killings and a high-speed chase that only the best and fastest Aurors could keep up with put Frank and Alice alone with Lestrange in an abandoned farmhouse.

"_Expelliarmas!"_

Bellatrix's wand flew across the room and clattered to the worn pine planking.

"Give up Lestrange," said Frank coldly, "there's no where else to run."

"I have no intentions of running, Frank," purred Lestrange, "I assure you."

"_STUPIFY!"_

"_STUPIFY!"_

"_STUPIFY!"_

The house was lit by the red light of the Stunners, and Frank and Alice fell to the ground.

When the Longbottoms awoke, groggy, they were tightly lashed to dinning room chairs. Bellatrix was smirking at them. Too late now, Frank saw Barty Jr, Rodolphus and Rabastan had been hiding in the shadows. Moody would have court marshalled him for that mistake.

"Where is the Dark Lord?" demanded Barty Jr, his voice high and hysterical.

"Don't know, dead I guess," Frank chuckled. Bella slapped him across the face. Frank laughed. "Doing it the Muggle way now, are you Bella? Can't remember how your wand works? Or are you so used to taking orders that you can't – "

"_Crucio!"_ Bella snarled. Frank's jaw snapped shut with such force that he felt his teeth crack, his body was wracked with pain, twisting and pulling at the ropes that bound him until welts formed on his skin.

"Careful, Bella, not too much now, he needs to be able to talk," Rodolphus laughed.

"Of course, husband, I haven't forgotten," Bella snapped. Frank hung limply in the chair, supported only by the ropes around his chest. Bellatrix lifted Frank's chin, and smiled. "Barty forgets why it is that we're here. Not that you have information about where our Lord is… but that you know where James Potter is."

"In a graveyard," Frank said, gasping for breath. "He's dead. Everyone knows that."

"We know he's not dead!" Barty grabbed Alice by the hair, pulling her so hard her chair over-turned. "Tell us what you know or she will suffer!"

"I can't tell you what I don't know."

"And if you did know…?" queried Rabastan.

"I wouldn't tell you," Frank spat a gob of blood into the prissy boy's face.

They all turned their wands on Alice, _'Crucio'_ they said in unison. Alice rocked and screamed, muffled by a gag. They questioned Frank relentlessly, about Voldemort, about the Aurors, about Harry Potter, about James, never once releasing Alice from the curse. Frank didn't beg for them to spare Alice, he didn't make up answers to get them to leave her alone. Frank wasn't that stupid, he knew the moment he gave the Death Eaters what they wanted, he and Alice would be dead. The ropes were now cutting into Alice's arms, blood darkened the sleeves of her robes.

"WHERE IS HE?" Bellatrix screamed.

"I DON'T KNOW!" Frank bellowed right back. Alice had stopped screaming. The Death Eaters held their wands loosely at their sides, fire burned in their eyes. There was no light in Alice's eyes, she breathed, moved, gasped, but her eyes were lost, looking at something very far away, something that not even she could see.

"I know Potter came to you! Where did he go?"

"I don't know," Frank sobbed. "For the love of magic, I swear I don't know."

"Perhaps we are going about this the wrong way…" Barty said, pulling out a short knife. He knelt by Alice's head, and pressed the knife against her cheek.

"It doesn't matter…" Frank said hopelessly. "She won't feel it. She's gone."

The Death Eaters looked at each other, and levelled their wands at Frank.

"Then perhaps your own pain will loosen your tongue," Rodolphus sneered.

Everything was pain then. Sparks erupted in his eyes. Fire replaced his blood. Bones grinded against each other. Joints twisted out of socket. Frank didn't know where he found breath to scream, his lungs burned, and a crushing weight had settled on his chest. Somewhere inside his head, the man that was Frank was caught in a massive web. The strands pulled and twisted, parts broke off under the strain. All around him his screaming voice echoed loudly. The strands around him started to break, Frank grasped at them futilely, the dry fibres pulled apart at his touch. He was falling, all around him the screaming echoed. Down, down, down he fell. The screaming grew fainter, and he was caught up into a soft fog. He was aware of voices outside of the fog, there was a jolt, and a muffled thud such as a dead weight hitting the floor. A face appeared in the fog, but he didn't recognize it.

"_Who are you?"_ he called, but the fog swallowed his voice. The face disappeared into the fog again. _"Where are you?"_

Then he was floating. Images shifted through the fog, never staying long enough for him to identify them.

"_Where are you taking me? What's going on?"_

The faces outside the fog couldn't hear him. Everything was going dark.

"_Don't leave me here! Help me!"_

**And with one thing and another, fourteen years passed…**

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**Author's Notes:** **May contain spoilers if you have not read the original version of this tale. **

The largest changes in this chapter are: The character of Peter Pettigrew, the role of Dumbledore, and the events preceding and following the attack on Harry.

The reasons for these changes: Peter Pettigrew was too strong of a character, and since I was changing Dumbledore from a Villain to well… a not quite perfect man doing the best he can… I also needed to change how and why Peter ended up betraying his friends. The reason I changed the role of Dumbledore was the story was getting much too boggled down with villains… There was Yggdrassil, Sigaurd, Voldemort AND Dumbledore, and I didn't want to have to spend the time resolving all those separate plots and conflicts. It wasn't necessary to have Dumbledore as a manipulative bastard – that was just in the story because after the fourth book in canon I really started hating Dumbledore. But my personal bias doesn't need to appear in this story. As for the change in what happened after Harry was attacked and the Evanses were killed, I felt there needed to be a more solid reason _why_ James and Lily didn't immediately attempt to regain Harry. Crazy Bella provided that reason quite nicely.


	2. Dudley Demented

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything Harry Potter; all characters/ settings etc, from the books and or movies are property of J.K Rowling and whatever Movie producer attached additional copyright to the franchise. I write merely for my own amusement and to improve my skills. **

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_**Dudley Demented**_

After a frustrating month of no word from anyone, Harry Potter was angry. Walking home late one warm summer's evening with his cousin Dudley, Harry taunted the brutish boy. Dudley was afraid of him, and Harry was using that to his best advantage, insulting everything from Dudley's intelligence, to Aunt Petunia's sickeningly cute nicknames, to his courage in needing four friends to back him up when bullying a ten-year-old.

A muscle twitched in Dudley's jaw, Harry could see in his cousin's face how badly Dudley wanted to punch him. Dudley was the only vent Harry had for his own frustration, and it was enormously satisfying to see how furious he was making his cousin.

Dudley always avoided as much effort as he could, and so the big boy took the shortcut down the alley between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk. It was the same alleyway that Harry had first seen Sirius in nearly two years ago. Empty except for a few trash bins and much darker than the main streets, the alleyway was quiet, muffled between garage walls and high fences.

"You think you're a big man, carrying around that _thing_, don't you?" Dudley said after a few seconds.

"What thing?" Harry asked deliberately. He knew what Dudley was talking about, but wondered if his cousin would actually come out and say it.

"That _thing_ you're hiding."

Harry grinned.

"So maybe you're not as stupid as you look, Dud. But then if you were, I s'pose you wouldn't be able to walk and talk at the same time."

Harry pulled out his wand. He saw Dudley look sideways at it.

"You're not allowed," Dudley blurted. "I know you're not. You'll get expelled from that freak school you go to."

"Maybe they've changed the rules, Big D."

"They haven't," said Dudley. Harry could tell his cousin was trying to convince himself that he was right.

Harry laughed softly. This was the most fun he'd had in ages.

"You haven't the guts to take me on without that thing, have you?" Dudley snarled.

"Whereas you need four mates behind you to beat up a ten-year-old. You know that boxing title you keep banging on about? How old was your opponent, seven?"

"He was sixteen," snarled Dudley. "And he was out cold for twenty-minutes after I'd finished with him. Just you wait until I tell Dad you had that _thing_ out – "

"Running to Daddy now, are you? Is the ickle boxing champion scared of nasty Harry's wand?"

"Not this brave at night, are you?" Dudley sneered.

"Uh, this _is_ night, Diddykins. That's what they call it when it goes all dark like this," Harry said in a condescending tone, waving a finger in little circles at the sky.

"I mean when you're sleeping!" Dudley snarled.

"What d'you mean?" said Harry, a sudden cold, plunging sensation in his stomach. He had the sickly feeling he knew what Dudley was getting at: he had revisited the graveyard last night in his dreams.

Dudley laughed.

"I heard you talking in your sleep last night. _Moaning._"

"Y-you're lying," said Harry automatically.

Dudley laughed again, and then adopted a high-pitched whimpering voice.

"Don't kill Cedric! Don't kill Cedric! Who's Cedric, cousin – your boyfriend?"

Harry tightened his grip on his wand.

"You're lying," Harry repeated, but he knew Dudley was telling the truth and hated his cousin all the more for it.

"Help me Dad! He's going to kill me! Help! Dad! Mum! Help me! Boo hoo!"

"Shut up," Harry said quietly. "Shut up, Dudley. I'm warning you."

"Mum, come and help me! He's killed Cedric! Help me, he's going to – _Don't you point that thing at me!"_

Dudley had back into the alley wall. Harry had his wand pointed directly at Dudley's heart. Fourteen years of hatred pounded in his veins. What he wouldn't give to turn Dudley into a filthy little cockroach – or only half way into a cockroach so that he'd have to crawl home, struck dumb and sprouting feelers.

"Don't you _ever_ mention that again," Harry snarled. "D'you you understand me?"

"Point that thing somewhere else!"

"I said: '_do you understand me?'"_

_ "Point it somewhere else!"_

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

"GET IT AWAY FROM ME!"

Something happened to the night. The indigo, star-studded sky suddenly turned as black and lightless as spilled ink. The stars, the moon, the streetlamps at the end of the alleyway had vanished, swallowed by the gloom. The whisper of the wind through the trees, and the distant rumble of cars in the street were suddenly inaudible. The heat of the summer's evening had turned to a deep, piercing cold. They were surrounded by total, impenetrable, silent darkness.

For a split second Harry thought he had done magic without meaning too, even though he'd been resisting as hard as he could. Then his reasoning caught up with his senses – he didn't have the power to turn off the stars. He turned his head this way and that, searching in vain for some glimmer of light in the darkness.

Dudley's terrified voice broke the silence.

"W-w-what are you d-doing? S-stop it!"

"I'm not doing anything! Shut up and don't move!"

"I c-can't see! I've gone blind! I – "

"Shut up," Harry hissed.

Harry stood stock still, searching with sightless eyes. The cold was so intense he was shivering; goose bumps had erupted on his arms and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. There was something out there.

It was impossible. They couldn't be here. Not in Little Whinging. Harry strained his ears… he would hear them before he saw them.

"I-I'll t-tell Dad!" Dudley whimpered. "W-where are you? What are you do-doing?"

"Will you shut up? I'm trying to lis – "

Harry fell silent. He'd just heard the very sound he'd been dreading. Somewhere in the darkness of the alley, something was drawing long, hoarse, rattling breaths like an amplified, dysfunctional Darth Vader ventilator. Harry's heart dropped down to somewhere in the vicinity of his shoes.

"S-stop doing that! I swear I'll hit you!"

"Dudley, shut up!"

WHAM!

A fist made contact with the side of Harry's head, lifting him off his feet. Small, white lights popped in front of his eyes. Harry felt as though his head had been cleaved in two, and a moment later he landed hard on the ground, and his wand flying out of his hand.

"Damn it, Dudley!" Harry yelled, his eyes watering in pain as he scrambled up onto his hands and knees, frantically feeling around in the blackness for his wand. He heard Dudley blundering away, slamming hard into a fence, and stumbling.

"DUDLEY! STOP! YOU'RE GOING STRAIGHT FOR IT!"

There was a horrible, squealing yell like a dying pig, and Dudley's footsteps stopped. At the same moment, Harry felt a creeping chill behind him that could only mean one thing. There was more than one.

"DUDLEY! KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! WHATEVER YOU DO DON'T OPEN YOUR MOUTH! Wand… wand!" Harry muttered frantically his hands flying over the ground like ants. "Where is – wand – come on – _lumos!_"

He said the spell automatically, desperate for light. To his surprise and relief, light flared just inches from his right hand – the tip of the wand had ignited. Harry snatched it up, scrambled to his feet and turned around.

His stomach did back flips.

A towering, hooded figure glided smoothly towards him, hovering above the ground, no feet or face visible beneath the dark shroud of its tattered robes.

Back peddling, Harry raised his wand.

"_Expecto Patronum!_"

A thin silver vapour jetted from the tip of the wand. The Dementor slowed, but did not stop. The spell hadn't worked properly. Nearly tripping over his own feet, Harry retreated further down the alley. As the Dementor bore down on him, Harry felt the icy grip of fear fogging his brain – _concentrate – _

A pair of grey, sinewy hands slid from the Dementor's cloak, reaching for him.

_"Expecto Patronum!"_

His voice sounded dim, and distant, he could hardly hear for the rushing in his ears. Another wisp of silver smoke, feebler than the last time drifted from the wand. The Dementor hardly slowed. He couldn't do it. He couldn't work the spell anymore.

Laughter resounded in his own head, shrill, high-pitched laughter… he could smell the Dementor's putrid, death cold breath, could feel it filling his lungs, drowning him. _Think… something happy…_

But there was no happiness in him. The Dementor's icy fingers closed around his throat. The insidious high-pitched laughter grew louder, and louder, and he could hear a voice inside his head: _'Bow to death, Harry… it might even be painless… I would not know… you see… I have never died…"_

The Dementor pressed down on the hinges of his jaw, and his mouth dropped open. Harry drew in a shuddering gasp, but there was no air, only the frigid breath of the Dementor. The hooded face drew closer, painfully slowly, like a drawn out love scene in a sappy movie.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

An enormous silver stag slammed into the Dementor, antlers crushing and piercing its chest, its clammy hands were ripped from Harry's throat and face as it was caught up and thrown, as weightless as darkness it fell slowly to the ground where it lay in a crumpled broken heap.

Harry gasped for breath, his head spinning from lack of air.

"Dudley," wheezed Harry, "DUDLEY!"

Somehow he found the breath to yell.

The stag thundered on down the alley, and Harry followed after it, he had run barely a dozen steps when he reached them: Dudley was curled up on the ground, his arms clamped over his face. A second Dementor was crouching low over him, gripping his wrists in its slimy hands, prising them slowly, almost lovingly apart, lowering its hooded head towards Dudley's face as though about to kiss him.

"GET IT!" Harry bellowed at the stag.

The stag barrelled over the Dementor, crushing the horrid thing beneath its pounding hooves. Ragged, black robes caught in the gleaming silver hooves and the Dementor was dragged a ways down the alley with the charging stag, its broken body twisting and rolling over itself, the ethereal stag stumbled and dissolved into silver mist.

Moon, stars and streetlamps burst back into life. A warm breeze swept the alleyway. Trees rustled in neighbouring gardens and the mundane rumble of cars in Magnolia Crescent filled the air again. Harry stood quite still, all his senses vibrating, taking in the abrupt return to normality. After a moment, he became aware that his T-shirt was sticking to him; he was drenched in sweat.

He could not believe what had just happened. Dementors _here_, in Little Whinging. And where had the Patronus come from? Harry couldn't remember saying the spell again, he knew he heard it, and then the stag had appeared, and the Dementors… had it actually killed them? Harry's Patronus had never done that before, and yet in the light of his wand he could make out the vague black shape of the Dementor the stag had dragged off before it disappeared. He turned to look for the other corpse, and nearly ran into someone who had been standing right behind him.

"Are you alright?" The stranger asked softly.

Harry nodded numbly, staring blankly. The person standing before him wasn't much older than he was, a slim young man of about seventeen, with short, straight golden hair, dark, forest green eyes flecked with gold, lined with thick dark lashes, and a fine almost delicate nose, dressed in a plain white T-shirt, and dark-wash jeans with a matching jean jacket. He held a mahogany wand loosely in his right hand. Several silver and gold necklace chains of varying thickness hung about his neck and disappeared under the scoop neck of his t-shirt.

Dudley lay curled up on the ground, whimpering and shaking. As Harry bent down to see whether he was in a fit state to stand up, the teenage wizards heard the loud running footsteps at the same time, the golden haired boy whirled around on his heel, wand out, as Harry sidestepped to get a clear view down the alley.

Mrs. Figg, Harry's batty old neighbour came panting into sight. Her grizzled grey hair was escaping from its hairnet, a clanking string shopping bag was swinging from her wrist and her feet were halfway out of her tartan carpet slippers. The boys made to stow their wands hurriedly out of sight, but –

"Don't put them away, you idiots!" she shrieked. "What if there are more of them around? Oh, I am going to _kill_ Mundungus Fletcher!"

"What?" said Harry blankly.

"He left!" said Mrs. Figg, wringing her hands. "Left to see someone about a batch of cauldrons that fell of the back of a broom! I told him I'd flay him alive if he went, and now look! Dementors! It's just lucky I put Mr. Tibbles on the case! But we haven't got the time to stand around! Hurry, now, we've got to get you back! Oh, the trouble this is going to cause! I will _kill_ him!"

"But – " The revelation that his batty cat-obsessed neighbour knew what Dementors were was almost as big a shock to Harry as meeting two of them in an alley. "You're – you're a _witch_?"

"I'm a Squib, as Mundungus knows full well, so how on earth was I supposed to help you fight off Dementors? He left you completely without cover when I'd _warned_ him – "

"This Mundungus has been following me? Hang on – it was _him!_ He Disapparated from the front of my house!"

"Yes, yes, _yes_, but luckily I'd stationed Mr. Tibbles under a car just in case, and Mr Tibbles came and warned me, but by the time I got to your house you'd gone – and now – oh, _what's_ Dumbledore going to say? You!" she shrieked at Dudley, still supine on the alley floor. "Get your fat bottom off the ground, quick!"

"You know Dumbledore?" said Harry, staring at her.

"Of course I know Dumbledore, who doesn't know Dumbledore? But come _on_ – I'll be no help if they come back, I've never so much as Transfigured a teabag."

"You make it sound like Transfiguration is easy," the golden haired boy said. Forgotten until now he had taken the opportunity to collect the Dementor's robes, empty now, the corpses having dematerialized shortly after death. He looked rather dashing with the black material slung over his shoulder.

He stooped down, seized one of Dudley's massive arms and heaved.

"Come on, you great oaf, time to get up!"

"Here, let me help." Harry took hold of Dudley's other arm and they heaved together. With great effort they managed to hoist him to his feet. Dudley seemed to be on the point of fainting. His small eyes were rolling in their sockets and sweat was beading his face; the moment the boys let go of him he swayed dangerously.

"Hurry up!" said Mrs. Figg hysterically.

With a nonchalant shrug the golden haired boy pulled one of Dudley's massive arms around his own shoulders, adjusting the Dementor's robes to the crook of his arm, and dragged him towards the road, sagging slightly under the weight until Harry took up Dudley's other arm. Mrs. Figg tottered along in front of them, peering anxiously around the corner.

"Keep your wands out," she told them, as they entered Wisteria Walk. "Never mind the Statute of Secrecy now, there's going to be hell to pay anyway, we might as well be hanged for a dragon as an egg. Talk about the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery… this was _exactly_ what Dumbledore was afraid of – What's that at the end of the street? Oh it's just Mr. Prentice… don't put your wand away, boy, don't I keep telling you I'm no use?"

"Put it away, Harry." The golden haired boy said quietly, so that Mrs. Figg wouldn't hear. "And don't worry about the Reasonable Restriction for Underage Sorcery, that last spell was mine, that's the one they'd have picked up, if they did at all. Those wisps you shot out wouldn't have been strong enough to make it through the Dementor's dampening field. I'm not underage, but I was awfully close to you when I shot the spell off. Perhaps close enough that things got jangled. I'll sort things out. It will be alright."

Harry gratefully tucked his wand back into the waistband of his pants, using his now free hand to grip Dudley's wrist and keep the larger boy on his shoulder. Harry gave his cousin an impatient dig in the ribs, but Dudley seemed to have lost all desire for independent movement.

"Thanks," said Harry. "Lucky for me you were there. I don't think I would have made it if you hadn't…"

"You might have, you might not have. I decided not to wait to find out. It wasn't luck, I was following you."

"What? Why?"

"I wanted to talk to you, but that can wait, for now." He gestured with his head towards Mrs. Figg.

Harry opened his mouth to ask a question, but stopped. The two boys walked, slowly, deliberately, supporting Dudley's bulk between them, while Mrs. Figg nattered on about Mundungus Fletcher, Dumbledore, damage control and underage magic.

Harry glanced at his new companion, who rolled his eyes and shook his head in response.

A row broke out when Fletcher finally appeared, smelling strongly of drink and tobacco.

"Don't tell Dumbledore anything," the golden haired boy said firmly, cutting Mrs. Figg off in mid-swing of her string bag.

"WHAT?" Mrs. Figg cried, "Not tell Dumbledore? That's impossible, Harry will be expelled! Dumbledore will have to – "

"Do nothing. The Patronus was mine. I'll deal with the Ministry myself. I'm not underage; as for any other complications, I can handle myself. There's no need for Dumbledore to get involved."

"No, I don't see why – " Mrs. Figg sputtered. "You can't be seventeen, you look much too young."

"Looks don't mean anything." He sighed, "You don't have to understand. You just have to do it. Put the cloak on, Mundungus, and get back on watch. Everything will be fine."

Mundungus nodded, and shook his head in disbelief.

"I'm sorry, kid. But I'll have to d' what I'm s'posed to do an' tell Dumbeldore." He shook out the invisibility cloak he had been carrying and disappeared under its folds. There was another loud _crack._

The golden haired boy snorted, and started walking again, nearly causing Harry to fall. The three of them staggered, but regained their footing after a few quick steps.

"So," Harry panted as they turned onto Privet Drive, "Dumbledore's… been having… me followed?"

"Of course he has," said Mrs. Figg impatiently. "Did you expect him to just let you wander around on your own after what happened in June? Good Lord, boy, they told me you were intelligent… right … get inside and stay there," she said as they reached the door of number four. "I expect someone will be in touch with you soon enough."

"What are you going to do?" Harry asked quickly.

"I'm going straight home," said Mrs Figg, staring around the dark street and shuddering. "Just stay in the house. Goodnight."

"Hang on, don't go yet! I want to know – "

But Mrs. Figg had already set off at a trot, carpet slippers flopping, string bag clanking.

"Wait!" Harry shouted after her. He had a million questions to ask anyone in contact with Dumbledore, and he realized he'd never asked why she hadn't told him she was a Squib; but within seconds Mrs. Figg was swallowed by the darkness.

"That's the problem with older folks, they never trust the younger to take care of themselves," said the golden haired boy, staring off into the dark with hard eyes.

"Why didn't you want Dumbledore to know? He could help," asked Harry as they made their slow painful way up number four's garden path.

"Because I'm almost positive that the Ministry will never have picked up on any of the magic you did. And Dumbledore's in enough trouble with the Ministry as it is, he doesn't need to loose anymore face by acting rashly."

"What do you mean by that?"

"If he jumps to your defence when there is nothing to defend against… he'll look like a fool."

"What – "

"Merlin! You have a lot of questions. How about answering one, can we get this ogre inside?"

The hall light was on, but the door was locked. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had never trusted Harry enough to give him a key to the front door, and knowing Dudley, the fat pig had probably left his latchkey on the hall table. Harry rang the bell and watched Aunt Petunia's outline grow larger and larger, oddly distorted by the rippling glass of the front door.

"Diddy! About time too, I was getting quite – quite – _Diddy, what's the matter?_"

The boys looked sideways at Dudley and ducked out from under his arms just in time. Dudley swayed on the spot for a moment, his face pale green… then he opened his mouth and vomited all over the doormat.

"DIDDY! Diddy, what's the matter with you? Vernon? VERNON!"

Harry's uncle came galumphing out of the living room, walrus moustache blowing hither and thither as it always did when he was agitated. He hurried forwards to help Aunt Petunia negotiate a weak-kneed Dudley over the threshold while avoiding stepping in the pool of sick.

"He's ill, Vernon!"

"What is it, son? What's happened? Did Mrs. Polkiss give you something foreign for tea?"

"Why are you all covered in dirt, darling? Have you been lying on the ground?"

"Hang on – you haven't been mugged, have you, son?"

Aunt Petunia screamed.

"Phone the police, Vernon! Phone the police! Diddy, darling, speak to Mummy! What did they do to you?"

In all the kerfuffle nobody seemed to have noticed Harry, or the golden haired boy, which suited Harry just perfectly. He gestured to the golden haired boy to follow him and they managed to slip inside just before Uncle Vernon slammed the door and, while the Dursleys made their noisy progress down the hall towards the kitchen, Harry moved carefully and quietly towards the stairs.

The golden haired boy stood just inside the door, regarding the many pictures Aunt Petunia had on the wall.

"Who did it son? Give us names. We'll get them, don't worry."

"Shh! He's trying to say something, Vernon! What is it, Diddy? Tell Mummy!"

Harry's foot was on the bottom-most stair when Dudley found his voice.

"_Him_/"

Harry froze, foot on the stair, his shoulders sagged, braced for the explosion.

"BOY! COME HERE!"

With a feeling of mingled dread and anger, Harry removed his foot slowly from the stair and turned to follow the Dursleys.

The golden haired boy watched Harry turn towards the kitchen, his face momentarily twisted in anger before composing into a stony-cold mask, and he followed after.

The scrupulously clean kitchen had an oddly unreal glitter after the darkness outside. Aunt Petunia was ushering Dudley into a chair; he was still very green and clammy-looking. Uncle Vernon was standing in front of the draining board, glaring at Harry through tiny, narrowed eyes. So intense was his focus he didn't see the golden haired boy slip into the kitchen after Harry.

"What have you done to my son?" he said in a menacing growl.

"Nothing," said Harry, knowing perfectly well that Uncle Vernon wouldn't believe him.

"What did he do to you, Diddy?" Aunt Petunia said in a quavering voice, now sponging sick from the front of Dudley's leather jacket. "Was it – was it you-know-what, darling? Did he use – his _thing_?"

Slowly, tremulously, Dudley nodded.

"I didn't!" Harry said sharply, as Aunt Petunia let out a wail and Uncle Vernon raised his fists. "I didn't do anything to him, it wasn't me it was – "

"You really ought to watch your temper, that can't be good for your blood pressure," the smooth, calm voice of the golden haired boy undercut the mounting tension in the pristine kitchen.

He was looking quite critically at the pulsing vein in Uncle Vernon's temple.

"If you keep that up, you just might pop a vessel. Rather nasty, that. Here, eat this." The last comment was directed at Dudley, whom he was now mysteriously sitting by at the table, and followed by an offering of fine, dark Belgium chocolate broken off a candy bar that was now lying partially unwrapped on the table.

"It's not poisoned, I just got it at the store. Paid two pounds for it. It will help make the cold go away."

Dudley looked uncertainly between the chocolate and the golden haired boy, but the earnestness in his eyes, and the fineness of the chocolate (which Dudley had not been able to have in a long time) overcame his reservations and he took the small square sweet.

"There. That's it. Better? Good. Here, Harry, you can eat and I'll explain everything. Come sit down. Yes, that's better."

There was something about the calm of his voice that made Harry listen. It was as if the promise of peace and security were all wrapped up in those mid-range tones.

The moment the fine, dark chocolate spread across his tongue Harry could feel the aching cold lift from his bones, the horrible, terrible fear fled, replaced by a soft, light warmth that radiated from his throat and stomach.

"Who the blazes are you?" Uncle Vernon said sharply, pointing a great sausage like finger at the golden haired boy. "And what are you doing in my house?"

"Me?" the boy batted his long eyelashes innocently. "Name's Stag, James Stag. Harry let me in. I guess he thought it might only be polite to offer me some tea after I helped him carry Dudley all the way here from Wisteria Walk."

Harry finished the square of chocolate while James talked. James was a fast talker, he recounted the events of the night, cutting through Uncle Vernon's accusations and answering questions like a gatling gun.

"He pointed his wand at me," Dudley mumbled.

"Yeah, I did, but I didn't use –" Harry began angrily, but –

_CRACK!_

Aunt Petunia screamed, Uncle Vernon yelled and ducked, James had already gone to the window and retrieved a small roll of parchment from a rather dazed looking barn owl.

"OWLS!" roared Uncle Vernon, and Aunt Petunia in unison.

James unrolled the parchment and laughed. "It's a letter from the Ministry of Magic inquiring why Headmaster Dumbledore is harassing the Minister in the middle of the night, over some alleged incident of Underage Magic that was never reported and didn't come up on the trace. They would like you to clarify the situation." He handed the parchment to Harry. "I bet Dumbledore feels mighty silly for just jumping in like that. Ah well. Even the best make mistakes I guess."

Harry stared blankly at the letter, read it through three times, took a pen out of the cup by the telephone, hastily wrote a reply on the back of the letter, and sent the dazed barn owl out the window.

"WHAT IS GOING ON?" Uncle Vernon bellowed.

James sighed, covering his face with both palms.

"I've told you!"

"But what _happened _to Dudley?"

James sighed. "Muggles! Its nothing that a bit of chocolate can't fix," he said, and gestured towards the bar of chocolate on the table. "Something about chocolate makes the cold and the fear go away. You can eat the rest of it, if you'd like."

Dudley shuddered and reached for the bar. After taking several large bites the pink flush returned to his cheeks and he stopped shivering.

"Thanks," Dudley said hoarsely.

James merely nodded.

"Would somebody explain what happened to my son?" Vernon snapped.

"We already told you, it was a couple of Dementors!" Harry said, voice and temper rising.

"And what the ruddy hell are Dementors?"

"They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban," said Aunt Petunia.

Two seconds of ringing silence followed these words before Aunt Petunia clapped her hand over her mouth as though she had let slip a disgusting swear word. Uncle Vernon was goggling at her. Harry's brain reeled. Mrs. Figg was one thing – but _Aunt Petunia?_

"How d'you know that?" he asked her, astonished.

Aunt Petunia looked quite appalled with herself. She glanced at Uncle Vernon in fearful apology, and then lowered her hand slightly to reveal her horsy teeth.

"I heard – that awful boy – telling _her_ about them – years ago," she said jerkily.

"If you mean my mum and dad, why don't you use their names?" said Harry loudly, but Aunt Petunia ignored him. She seemed horribly flustered.

Except for one outburst years ago, in the course of which Aunt Petunia had screamed that Harry's mother had been a freak, he had never heard her mention her sister. He was astonished that she had remembered this scrap of information about the magical world for so long, when she usually put all her energies into pretending it didn't exist.

Uncle Vernon was doing a rather fine impression of a fish, opening and shutting his mouth repeatedly. After the third time he apparently remembered how to talk and croaked, "So – so – they – er – they – er – they actually exist, do they- er – Dementy-whatsits?"

Aunt Petunia nodded.

Uncle Vernon looked from Aunt Petunia to Dudley to Harry to James as if hoping somebody was going to should "April Fool!" When nobody did, he opened his mouth yet again, but was spared the struggle to find more words by another owl whizzing through the still open window.

Harry tore the second official looking envelope from the owl's beak and ripped it open as the owl swooped off into the night.

"Enough… effing… owls," he grumbled distractedly, stomping over to the window and slaming it closed.

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_Thank you for your prompt reply in rectifying the afore mentioned situation with Professor Dumbledore. Enclosed in this letter are several forms that you will need to fill out, as an official statement on the events of this evening. As a warning, I am obliged to mention that the forms have been enchanted against falsehood, and the penalty for filing a false statement is not only extremely embarrassing but also very uncomfortable._

_With best wishes,_

_Yours sincerely_

_Mafalda Hopkins_

_Improper Use of Magic Office_

_Ministry of Magic_

James leaned back in his chair, clicking the buckles on the inside-ankles of his motorcycle boots together, while Harry relayed the contents of the newest missive.

"Why would Professor Dumbledore be so worried about the Ministry doing something to me?" Harry asked, folding the letter and putting it in a pocket.

"I suppose he thought that if the Ministry thought you were the one who'd cast the spell that they'd haul you off to a trial or expel you from Hogwarts, break your wand, that sort of thing."

"I don't understand… why would they do that?"

"You have been reading the paper, haven't you?"

"Just the front page…"

"They've been dragging you through hell and high water, Harry. The Minister is doing everything he can to make sure that nobody believes a word you say."

"Why?"

"Because you're telling everyone that Mouldy-shorts is back."

"Mouldy-shorts? You mean Voldemort?"

James didn't flinch when Harry said the Dark Lord's name – he merely nodded.

"If you're not afraid of him, why don't you say his name?"

"I like Mouldy-shorts better."

Uncle Vernon glanced back and forth between Harry and James like a dog watching a bouncing ball, his moustache blowing with every breath.

"GET OUT!" bellowed Uncle Vernon at James.

James stiffened like he'd been stabbed in the back.

"GET OUT!" Uncle Vernon bellowed again.

James doubled over, clutching at his throat. He tried to stand, lurching at few steps, knocking heavily into the kitchen table before collapsing on the floor, his face twisted in pain.

"Stop. Please stop! I'm going!" James choked, feebly crawling towards the kitchen door.

"Vernon! What are you doing?" Aunt Petunia recoiled in horror from Harry's uncle. Blood was beginning to trickle from James' lips.

"I'm not doing anything!" said Uncle Veron, his eyes wide in horror. "Stop it! Make it stop! How do you turn it off?"

"Give me time to leave," James whimpered. "That – _spack_! – " He spat a large wad of blood onto the immaculate floor " – That w-will deactivate t-the wards!"

"Y-you have five minutes…" said Uncle Vernon in disbelief. Immediately James stopped writhing. He lay limply on the floor for a while breathing in short, rapid breaths. Slowly the slight young man pushed himself up off the floor. "What the ruddy hell was that?" demanded Uncle Vernon.

"Wards… to keep unwanted wizards off your property… only those with an invitation, or the ward key can enter into the effected area…" James gasped. "I have to go…"

"You're leaving already? But I have – " Harry started to say, but –

"A million and a half questions. I know," said James, taking a deep, rattling breath. He used the back of his sleeve to wipe the blood from his lips. "But I'm not welcome to stay any longer, and I only have so much time to get out of the area…" James glanced anxiously over at Uncle Vernon, "I don't know if I would survive if the wards activated again. Shall I meet you later? Say, tomorrow, at the park? Its outside the wards…"

"I'd like that," said Harry.

"I'll be there at noon. Until then, good night," James caught up the loose Dementor robes and limped out the door.

Another owl dropped off another letter, from Sirius.

_Arthur has just told us what's happening. Don't leave the house again, whatever you do._

The two short lines seemed to be a whole inadequate response after all that happened.

Wasn't anyone happy that he was alive? Why did it seem like Sirius was angry with him? Uncle Vernon sat down heavily in a kitchen chair, stunned. Harry excused himself, saying that he needed to fill out some forms and post them before the Ministry got impatient and sent more owls. The threat of more owls in the kitchen was enough to allow Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia to let him leave uninhibited.

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**Author's Notes:** Main changes to this chapter: Harry is no longer going to a disciplinary hearing! The rest is pretty much the same, with some minor changes in dialogue.


	3. The Best Summer Ever

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything Harry Potter; all characters/ settings etc, from the books and or movies are property of J.K Rowling and whatever Movie producer attached additional copyright to the franchise. I write merely for my own amusement and to improve my skills.**

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** _The Best Summer Ever_**

**_Lenore_**

The cool, salty sea breeze wafted in though arced double doors thrown open to the lush green of an interior courtyard, white stone walls gleaming in the afternoon sun. Lenore Pottér de Varga, sat alone at her writing desk, carefully composing a letter. Often she paused to look critically at her neat, left leaning handwriting before continuing. A finished letter already sat on the corner of the desk, neatly secured in an envelope addressed _Harry Potter_. When the second letter was finished, she brushed aside the short strand of her long golden hair that was always stubbornly falling into her clear grey eyes, and addressed the letter to _Severus Snape, Number 13 Spinner's End, New Mills, Hope Valley, England._ She slipped the letter addressed to her nephew into the letter addressed to Snape, sealed it, and tied it to the leg of the owl that roosted in the den. She carried the sleepy owl into the courtyard, and released it. She watched as it disappeared over the walls of the castle.

"Severus," she murmured to the sky, "please don't hesitate this time."

_**Harry**_

_Dementors have just attacked me. I'm all right, but I didn't do anything. I want to know what's going on and when I'm getting out of here._

The moment Harry was up in his room he copied those words out on three separate sheets of parchment. Then he filled out all the Ministries forms and tied the lot to Hedwig's leg as the snowy owl swallowed a whole frog.

"Now, deliver the message to the Ministry first. Then you take these straight to Sirius, Ron, and Hermione, and you don't come back until you've gotten good long replies, you here? Keep pecking at them until they've written descent-length answers, you hear?" said Harry harshly.

Hedwig hooted dolefully, blinking her wide amber eyes. If she had lips Harry was sure she would have smiled at him.

"Well, off you go then… and be careful, Hedwig," Harry added in a softer tone.

Harry watched her leave, and sighed. They would write back quickly. They couldn't ignore a Dementor attack, could they? He was sure that he'd wake up in the morning to three fat letters full explanations and sympathy.

Hedwig was nowhere to be seen in the morning.

The rest of morning was typical of Number Four. Harry woke up early and started breakfast, it had become an easier chore since Dudley went on a diet, mostly boiling porridge and slicing fresh fruit.

His Aunt and Uncle ignored him, as usual; Harry could tell they were pretending that nothing had happened last night. He knew they would never forget, or forgive him for what happened to Dudley, but Harry knew them well enough that unless someone else brought it up, they would never mention it again.

At eleven thirty Harry walked down to the park on Magnolia Crescent, there was a few groups of children playing tag and ball games in the field. Harry took a seat on his favourite swing to wait for James, he watched the children idly, sometimes he would catch them looking his way, they all stayed clear of him on account of Dudley and his "boys" but Harry could tell they were curious. He was an odd looking sort to be hanging around the super-suburban Little Whinging, dressed in Dudley's too big, misshapen cast-offs, and with his hair looking like he'd just stepped out of a wind tunnel.

Harry rocked back and forth in the swing. He hardly ever actually swung on it anymore, but he remembered when he was little, very little, he used to think of it as the closest someone could ever get to flying. Now that he'd actually flown on his very own broomstick the swing had lost its charm. While he rocked back and forth, Harry's thoughts turned inward to the twisted labyrinth of growing bitterness, feelings of betrayal, insecurities, and isolation.

"Why the long face, Harry?"

"James! When did you get here?" said Harry, startled.

"Just now actually. I got a bit turned around in the Crescents, Walks and Boulevards." James sat down in the swing beside Harry's. "I remember these things. Used to love them when I was little, seemed almost like flying. Have you had lunch yet?"

"What?"

"Have you had lunch yet? I haven't." James repeated.

"No, but – "

"Well then, lets go out for lunch. My treat. I saw this great little burger joint on my way in. It's not far." James grinned, laughing at Harry's disbelieving stare.

"Lets make your shadow earn their keep eh?" said James winking. "Come on then. I'm hungry."

The burger joint was a great place to eat; it had booth seats covered in stuffed leather, and the greatest wedge-cut fries, the thickest shakes and the best burgers Harry had ever tasted. James talked throughout the meal, it was light conversation, he talked about a few funny stories from when he was younger, about movies he enjoyed, about his favourite Quiddich – and other sports (for a wizard he was surprisingly knowledgeable about Hockey) – teams, and about his hobby of building motorcycles. Harry talked about Hogwarts, about Ron and Hermione, and argued (in the way that two sports fans do) about the Quiddich teams. The two boys found they were very similar.

They spent most of the rest of the afternoon cruising around on James' motorcycle; a sleek, sporty, black, red and gold machine that James' had custom built.

When James dropped him back off at number four, Privet Drive, Mrs. Figg was waiting for him. She didn't look happy.

"Uh… I'll see you later James." Harry said.

"Yeah, tomorrow?"

"If you'd like. It's my birthday… we won't be doing anything special…but you're welcome to come."

"I'll be here, wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Thanks…"

"G'night Harry."

As the taillights of James' motorcycle disappeared around a corner, Harry turned to face the scowling visage of Mrs. Figg.  
"Harry Potter, just what do you think you're about? How can you be off gallivanting by yourself after what happened last night," said Mrs. Figg, waving an ancient bony finger in his face. "I thought you were told to stay in the house!"

"I wasn't by myself. I was with James," said Harry, irritated.

"Harry! He's a complete stranger! You don't know him!"

"I know more about him than I know about you," said Harry flatly. "Why didn't you tell me you were a Squib? All those times I came round to your house – why didn't you say anything?"

"Oh, Harry! I wanted to, but Dumbledore ordered me not to. I was forbidden. I was to keep an eye on you, but not to say anything. You were too young. I'm sorry I gave you such a miserable time, but the Dursleys' would have never let you come if they thought you enjoyed it."

"Too young. I see. Too young to know that there just might have been someone in the whole wide world who cared. Just like I'm too young to know what is going on now? Too young to know that I have a permanent shadow, for my safety, that evidently can't be trusted to keep me safe?"

"Harry, its for your own good, Dumbledore knows what he's doing. You can't just go running off with… with whomever you like. What if he's dangerous?"

"If he'd wanted me dead, I think he would have let the Dementors finish me off."

"But, Harry, you don't know that!"

"And you don't know anything about him! Well I'll tell you what Mrs. Figg. Tell Dumbledore he can give me some answers and I just might be inclined to follow his directions. Until then, I'll do what I think is best."

With that Harry turned, walked up the garden path, and into the house, leaving a rather stunned Mrs. Figg standing alone in the street.

With a sigh he sank down on his bed, watching the room grow steadily darker around him. The twilight couldn't match the increasing darkness in the internal maze of his mind. No matter where his thoughts turned, there was something lurking – the Dementor attack, the realization that Dumbledore may have known how he was being treated his entire life, and chose to do nothing, the secrecy of his friends and Godfather, greatest of all, the failure of the wizarding world to act on Voldemort's return, and his own inability to do anything at all. Neglect, abuse, and uncaring adults who thought they had your best interests at heart. There seemed to be only one bright spot in the foreseeable future – James was coming to visit tomorrow.

On the day of his birthday a package from Hermione had arrived via the Post. When Harry unwrapped he had hoped that there would be a letter explaining what was happening, but the only thing the package contained was a thick book on historic battles, and a birthday card. The postmark showed that Hermione had mailed it a week ago. Harry sighed and had just settled down in the middle of his bed, flipping though the pages of the book, when he heard the dull rumble of motorcycle engines.

Grinning he ran down the stairs to greet James.

A shining motorbike coasted into the curb.

"Hey! Harry! Good to see you. Happy birthday mate," said James as he pulled off his helmet and stuffed it into a rucksack he had slung over his shoulder. Harry stared at it. James smiled. "Expanded the inside. I've got your presents in here. What say we find some place to open them?"

"We could go inside," said Harry, "its just Aunt Petunia today, Uncle Vernon is at work and Dudley's out with his friends. Like I said yesterday… nothing special."

Up in Harry's room, James, and Harry all sat down across from each other on the floor. Harry watched in amazement as James pulled at least a dozen large, brightly wrapped packages out of the small rucksack. Most of the packages contained ordinary clothes: T-shirts, some plain, some with stripes or designs; long sleeved shirts and light-knit turtle-necks; jeans of various colours, and styles, some with dragons or lions embroidered on the legs, along with matching jean jackets, as well as various khaki and tan cargo pants, that had all been fixed with re-sizing charms. One box held a magnificent pair of knee high motorcycle boots with red and gold lions stitched onto the black leather sides, while others held new trainers, dress shoes, and a slick pair of black half-boots that he could wear with his dress robes. Yet another held a set of books on famous Dark Wizards, the Dark Wizard Hunters who stopped them, and their magical minions. Yet another held a black dragon hide jacket with an embossed image of a Hungarian Horntail on the back. The most surprising thing came in the smallest box; it was a thin, hexagon shaped crystal, cut from some sort of banded glimmering, white and transparent stone, the size of a galleon that hung suspended in a silver hoop on a silver chain.

"What is it?" asked Harry, tilting the crystal in his hands so the white bands caught the light and refracted it in a rainbow of colours.

"It's a Speaking Stone, sort of like the Wizards version of the cell-phone. You can use it anytime to contact anyone else that has a Speaking Stone. They're very rare, but they're the most secure way to speak over distances in our world. They can't be tapped into like the Floo network," said James, grinning as Harry's expression changed from curiosity, to awe, to a look of soft humility and utter gratitude. "Now, you can call me anytime," said James taking hold of one of the many chains around his neck. With a deft flick of his fingers produced an identical necklace. "Here," James reached across the circle and cupped Harry's hands around the crystal. "Before you use it you have to attune it to you, just hold it in your hands and concentrate on the Stone, yeah! You've got it!"

The Stone in Harry's hands had started to glow, the glimmering milky bands shifted and swirled inside of the stone, expanding and shimmering until the entire inside of the crystal was filled with iridescence. Out of the shimmering depths, Harry's face appeared then disappeared, and the Stone returned to normal. Harry looked at James.

"Now what?" he asked.

"Well, now, if you want to use the Speaking Stone to reach me, you just hold your Stone in your hand and think about the person you want to talk to, if it helps you can say their name out loud, but it's not necessary. If I try calling you, your stone with hum slightly, or glow, depends."

"That's amazing. Will it work over any distance?"

"Any distance, you could be anywhere in the world. The Speaking Stones were all cut from the same source years ago, its mined out now, but because of that all the Stones are connected, nothing can separate them."

"How did you get them, if they're so rare?"

"They've been in my family for years," said James.

"You're a pureblood then, aren't you?"

"Yes... is there something wrong with that?" James asked softly.

"No! Not at all…" said Harry. "One of my best friends is a pureblood. There's nothing wrong with that. It doesn't matter to me. Just most of them can be kind of…" Harry fumbled for a word that wouldn't be too offensive.

"Arrogant, self-centred, wankers?" James supplied with a smirk. "Of course we are."

Harry gaped at James.

"A man's got to know his limitations and flaws, Harry," said James sagely. "It's often the trappings of a pampered childhood. I was very spoiled as a child. Most purebloods are, Harry. You see, children in pureblood families are rare, so each one is treated as though they were the most precious thing in the world," he laughed without mirth. "Tends to give folks a rather swelled head."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, and wondered if the abundant proliferation of the Weasleys is what had keep them all from becoming copies of Draco Malfoy.

"Hey, you want to go see a movie?" James suggested.

Harry looked thoughtfully at his new clothes.

"Sure. Uh – can I have a minute to change? I'd rather not look like a bum if I don't have too."

"No problem mate. I'll wait for you out by the bike," said James.

Just a few minutes later Harry came outside dressed in well-fitted black, boot-cut jeans tucked into the tops of his new motorcycle boots, a black T-shirt with the face of a snarling, green-eyed black jaguar on the front, and a dark-wash jean jacket.

James flicked something to the ground and coughed.

"Looking good, Harry. Ready to roll?" said James, handing Harry a helmet that had come, presumably, out of his rucksack.

"Where you smoking?" Harry asked.

James coughed again. "Of course not."

Harry looked sceptical. James was still holding out the helmet. Harry laughed and took the helmet. "Ready to roll," he said.

James came around every day to hang out with Harry. He would arrive around noon and leave around five. Once Dudley and his gang tried to scare James off. They found out the hard way that another of James' hobbies was mixed martial arts. They never tried interfering in James and Harry's friendship again.

James answered almost any question Harry asked him; what a Trace was (the way the Ministry tracks underage magic), exactly how illegal it was to have magically modified motorcycles (extremely) were among the many questions that Harry got answers to. James also explained more about Dementors, and the magic sucking Dampening Field they produced when they were hunting.

Harry found it very easy to talk to James, the older boy was an attentive listener, always asking questions to keep Harry talking, smoothly flowing through the tides and eddies of Harry's tumultuous thoughts like a master white-water rafter. He ended up telling James more about his life than he had ever told anyone else, including Ron and Hermione. Harry talked about his fears, his life at the Dursleys, the utter helplessness he felt being stuck in Privet Drive with no access to his own world every summer, the frustration he held towards his friends and Dumbledore for not telling him anything, the lingering doubt that nobody felt he could be trusted not to act rashly if he knew what was going on.

It was such a relief to be able to talk about anything. Never once did James look at him with pity, never once did James ever accuse him of making something up or of being a glory hog. Harry didn't have to talk if he didn't want to, James was always happy to fill the silence with other light hearted chatter, or to simply cruise the streets of Little Whinging together on his motorcycle. Within the week after his birthday Harry felt almost as close to James as he did to Ron and Hermione, there were times when Harry wondered if that was what it would have been like to have an older brother (although from what he'd seen of Ron's relationships with Fred and George he wasn't sure).

Sometimes James spoke with such wisdom and experience that Harry wondered if he was really only seventeen.

So it was on one rainy day that the duo sat quietly in Harry's room, listening to the bawdy voices of Dudley and his friends in the den below, that Harry got up the courage to ask James about his family.

"Do your parents mind you coming out to see me every day like this?"

James blinked slowly, and lowering his head from the contemplation of the ceiling light, answered. "My parents are dead."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Really."

"They were old. And since I'm 'of age' I don't really qualify as an orphan. I can take care of myself."

"Don't you ever miss them?"

James looked away briefly before meeting Harry's eyes. "All the time."

Harry took his photo album off the night table and flipped it open, tracing his fingers over the face of his mother. "I don't really remember my parents. Sometimes… when the Dementors are around, I can hear Mum's voice, defiant. It's all I remember of her. I don't remember my dad at all."

James moved next to Harry and placed a comforting arm around his shoulders. He didn't know what to say.

"I know its silly, but when I was younger, I used to hope that one day someone – _anyone _– would show up, proclaim they were my family and take me away from here."

"That's not silly, Harry. Without hope, there is no reason to live. You kept yourself alive by hoping."

"Then Hagrid came and told me I was a wizard, and now… for a little while each year I get to leave this place…"

"Do you want to leave? Forever?"

Harry flipped the page to the photograph of his parents wedding, and the image of Sirius Black. "More than anything. A couple years ago, I had the chance… but I messed it up."

James' eyes hardened. Harry could not tell the focus of his ire.

A sudden gust of wind drove the rain into the window with a vigorous splatter.

The bedroom door burst open. Uncle Vernon filled the doorframe, huffing and blowing. "What are you doing here while my son is in the house?"

"Staying out of the rain, Uncle Vernon," Harry said quietly.

Uncle Vernon pointed an accusing finger at Harry, and eyed James warily.

"And what have you been doing up in the attic?"

"Nothing, Uncle Vernon. Aunt Petunia told me to stay in my room until Dudley left for the movies with Mrs. Polkiss this afternoon."

"Well Dudley told me that he'd seen you in the attic doing… _things_."

"I wasn't! I swear. I've been in my room all day! I only left once to let James in."

James shrugged. "We've been in here since after lunch…"

Uncle Vernon eyed James suspiciously. Then abruptly left the room. His heavy footsteps retreated down the stairs. James and Harry exchanged looks, then got to their feet and went to the attic.

They poked around in the attic for a while, looking around dust-encrusted boxes and aged electronics covered with dustsheets. Just as Harry was about to suggest going back downstairs, James popped the latch on an old trunk and a Boggart leapt out. At least Harry assumed it was a Boggart, since he was quietly standing by the stairs, and _not_ furiously shouting that James was a bloody lair, and a bloody coward. As well as other things that Harry would never have been able to repeat in polite company.

"_Riddikulus!_"

The Boggart turned into a chibi, pink, piggish Dudley that James then soccer punted across the room with a high-pitched _squeerk._ Harry burst out laughing at the rapid series of _fritts _and _squeaks_ the Boggart made as it hit the wall, bounced, hit the floor and bounced several more times before disappearing in a poof of smoke. James chuckled nervously and slid his wand back up his sleeve.

When Harry stopped laughing, the boys regarded each other in silence for a long while. There was a tension in the way James held himself that reminded Harry of a deer about to bolt.

"Why are you afraid of me?" Harry asked at last.

"Not of you… exactly…" James answered. "But that you'll hate me…"

"Have you been lying to me all this time?"

"Kind of…"

Harry frowned, and reached for his wand. "You're not a Death Eater, are you?"

James smiled, and laughed, some of the tension eased, "Merlin, no!"

"You're not going to kill me, are you?"

James shook his head, "Never. I'd die first."

"… You are my friend… right?"

"Yes."

"Then what have you been lying to me about?"

James shifted his weight from one foot to another. "Well… it's complicated, and well… it's not really something I've said… more of something I haven't…"

"You don't have to be afraid to tell me."

"But I am. More than anything."

Harry wanted to demand the truth then and there. He felt anger and bitterness rising… and then he remembered the Boggart, and knew that this was exactly the reaction James was afraid off. So, instead, he took a deep breath, released it, and walked over to James and put a hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to tell me now… when you're ready… I'm sure you will."

James nodded, and smiled weakly.

Harry regarded James slyly as they descended from the attic.

"I know your secret," he said jokingly.

James gulped, "What?"

"You smoke, don't you?" Harry proclaimed triumphantly.

James coughed, started to say something once or twice, and then changed his mind. "It's only illegal in muggle areas…" he admitted lamely. "'Cause the age of majority is different for wizards."

"Aunt Petunia says it's the most disgusting habit anyone could ever have."

"If I was a pettier man, I'd take it up just for that," James chuckled. "But that's not what I need to tell you. Harry… I'm – "

"It can wait," said Harry firmly. "Mrs. Polkiss will be here soon, and you'll probably have to leave after that. Uncle Vernon has an old school friend coming over, and I'm supposed to make supper for them."

After the incident with the Boggart, there were times when James would fall into a sullen silence, and Harry always change the subject. In his heart he knew, that if whatever it was that James was keeping from him would ruin their new friendship, then he did not want to know about it. It seemed to be the start of what would be the best summer Harry had ever had at Privet Drive. His new friend gave him back a spark of life that Harry hadn't even known he'd been missing. As each night past, Harry thought less and less of leaving Privet Drive, and more and more about what he and James would do tomorrow. Staring out the window at the streetlamps, Harry often wished that he could have spent summers like this with Ron and Hermione. He wasn't even angry anymore that Hedgwig hadn't returned with answers yet.

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**Author's Notes: Warning, may contain content considered slightly spoilery if you have not read the original version of the story. **Main changes to this chapter are: The addition of a scene with the previously mention but as of yet unseen Lenore Potter/Varga, James Potters sister and Harry's paternal Aunt. The removal of the characters Lenore Stag and Lillianne, James is the only one who comes to meet Harry. Also there is an inclusion of a bad habit for James, and the scene with the Boggart. I had originally wanted to make James a smoker, but had not had a good way to include the habit in the original story, so here I worked it in. Foreshadowing? If you've read the other version of the story, you already know.


	4. Time to Fly

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything Harry Potter; all characters/ settings etc, from the books and or movies are property of J.K Rowling and whatever Movie producer attached additional copyright to the franchise. I write merely for my own amusement and to improve my skills.**

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_**Time to Fly**_

Early on the morning of the tenth of August, Harry's Speaking Stone lit up, the milky bands swirling and expanding.

"Harry… Harry… answer me, Harry…" said James' voice from within the Stone, distant and echoing.

Harry scrambled across the bed and grabbed the Stone.

"I'm here, what's up?" said Harry, groggily rubbing his eyes.

"Were you serious about what you said the other day? About wanting to leave your Aunt and Uncle's forever?"

"Of course I was. Would _you_ want to live here?"

"No, no I wouldn't," there was a long pause. "If you're serious about wanting to leave… meet me in the park at ten o'clock. Bring your things."

"Serious?"

"Of course."

"I'll be there."

"Until then."

The Speaking Stone went dark in his hand.

Harry ran his thumb over the face of the Stone, hardly believing what he had just been offered: a way out of Privet Drive. He slipped the chain around his neck, comforted by the familiarity of the cool stone against his skin. A bubble of hope welled up in his chest… then burst. Dumbledore would never let him leave. Harry rose from the bed and cross over to the window. Somewhere out there, someone was watching the house. If he tried to leave after dark to meet James he would be caught and returned to the house, and after that – he would probably be given even less freedom than he already had.

Harry looked at the glowing red letters of the clock, and sighed. Maybe there was a way to make it to the park without being seen. He still had all day to come up with something.

Harry spent most of the day cleaning his room. He pitched out all of Dudley's cast-offs, emptied out his school trunk entirely, got rid of assorted bits of garbage that had fallen to the bottom, organized all his belongings so that everything would fit inside the trunk without getting broken or squashed, and cleaned out Hedwig's cage. Then he practiced carrying his broom, trunk and cage while under the invisibility cloak. Satisfied that he could do it without being seen, Harry waited for nightfall.

Harry was lounging on his bed reading the thick history book Hermione had given him, when his uncle entered his bedroom. Harry looked up slowly, slipped a piece of red ribbon into his book to keep his place and closed the book. Uncle Vernon was wearing his best suit, and an expression of enormous smugness.

"We're going out," he said.

"Sorry?"

"We – that is to say, your aunt, Dudley, and I – are going out."

"Fine," said Harry dully, opening his book again.

"You are not to leave your bedroom while we are away."

"Okay."

"You are not to touch the television, the stereo, or any of our possessions."

"Right."

"You are not to steal food from the fridge."

"Okay."

"I am going to lock your door."

"You do that."

Uncle Vernon glared at Harry, clearly suspicious of this lack of argument, then stomped out of the room, and closed the door behind him. Harry heard the key turn in the lock and Uncle Vernon's footsteps walking heavily down the stairs. A few minutes later he heard the slamming of car doors, the rumble of an engine, and the unmistakeable sound of the car sweeping out of the drive.

Harry had no particular feeling about the Dursleys leaving. It made no difference to him whether they were in the house or not. It made no difference that the bedroom door was locked; Fred and George had shown him how to pick locks back when he was twelve.

The night grew steadily darker. Harry eventually had to click on the lantern by his bed to continue reading. The empty house creaked. The pipes gurgled. Absorbed in his book, time passed Harry marked with increasing impatience as ten o'clock drew nearer.

At nine twenty six precisely, he heard a crash in the kitchen below. He closed the book, listening intently. The Dursleys couldn't be back, it was much too soon, and in any case he hadn't heard the car.

There was silence, for a few seconds, then voices.

_Burglars_, he thought, sliding off the bed on to his feet – but a split second later it occurred to him that burglars would keep their voices down, and whoever was moving around in the kitchen was certainly not troubling to do so.

He snatched up his wand from the bedside table and moved up to his bedroom door. The next moment he jumped as the lock gave a loud click and his door swung open.

Harry stood motionless, staring though the open doorway at the dark upstairs landing, straining his ears for further sounds, but none came. He hesitantly peered out of the door towards the stairs.

"James?" he whispered. When no answer came he stepped out of his room and onto the landing. He felt rather foolish for thinking his friend was sneaking into the house. Because of James' call earlier he hadn't invited him in today, so no wizard that Harry knew of could even get close to the house. So, logically then, the voices he'd heard earlier had to have come from Muggles.

His heart shot upwards into his throat. There were people standing in the shadowy hall below, silhouetted against the streetlight glowing though the glass door; eight or nine of them, all, as far as he could see, looking up at him.

"Lower you wand, boy, before you take someone's eye out," said a low growling voice.

Harry's heart was thumping uncontrollably. He knew that voice, but he did not lower his wand.

"Professor Moody?" he said uncertainly.

"I don't know so much about the 'Professor'," growled the voice, "never got round to much teaching, did I? Get down here, we want to see you properly."

Harry lowered his wand slightly but did not relax his grip on it, nor did he move. He had very good reason to be suspicious. He had recently spent nine months in what he thought was Mad-Eye Moody's company only to find out that it wasn't Moody at all, but an impostor; an impostor, moreover, who had tried to kill Harry before being unmasked. But before he could make a decision about what to do next, a second, slightly hoarse voice floated upstairs.

"It's alright, Harry. We've come to take you away."

Harry's heart leapt. He knew that voice, too, though he hadn't head it for over a year.

"P-Professor Lupin?" he said disbelievingly. "Is that you?"

"Why are we all standing in the dark?" said a third voice, this one completely unfamiliar, a woman's. "_Lumos_."

A wand-tip flared, illuminating the hall with magical light. Harry blinked. The people below were crowded around the foot of the stairs, gazing up at him intently, some craning their heads for a better look.

Remus Lupin stood nearest to him. Though still quite young, Lupin looked tired and rather ill; he had more grey hairs than when Harry had last said goodbye to him and his robes were more patched and shabbier than ever. Nevertheless, he was smiling broadly at Harry, who tried to smile back despite his state of shock.

"Oooh, he looks just like I though he would," said the witch who was holding her lit wand aloft. She looked the youngest there; she had a pale heart-shaped face, dark twinkling eyes, and short spiky hair that was a violent shade of violet. "Wotcher, Harry!"

"Yeah, I see what you mean, Remus," said a bald black wizard standing furthest back – he had a deep, slow voice and wore a single gold hoop in his ear – "he looks exactly like James."

"Except the eyes," said a wheezy-voiced, silver-haired wizard at the back. "Lily's eyes."

Mad-Eye Moody, who had long grizzled grey hair and a large chunk missing from his nose, was squinting suspiciously at Harry through his mismatched eyes. One was small, dark and beady, the other large, round and electric blue – the magical eye could see through walls, doors, and the back of Moody's own head.

"Are you quite sure it's him, Lupin?" he growled. "It'd be a nice lookout if we bring back some Death Eater impersonating him. We ought to ask him something only the real Potter would know. Unless anyone brought any Veritaserum?"

"Harry, what form does your Patronus take?" Lupin asked.

"A stag," said Harry nervously.

"That's him, Mad-Eye," said Lupin.

Very conscious of everybody still staring at him, Harry descended the stairs. He kept his wand in his hand – just in case.

Lupin held out his hand and shook Harry's.

"How are you?" he asked, looking closely at Harry.

"F-fine… better than ever really. So – " Harry asked suspiciously " – who gave you the ward key?"

The entire group looked startled, casting furtive glances at each other.

"How do you know about that?" Lupin asked.

"James told me," Harry said. "After Uncle Vernon nearly killed him by accidentally activating the darn things. Since none of you appear to be particularly uncomfortable, and I didn't invite you in, someone must have given you the key."

"You'd best just forget about that," grumbled Moody. "You're not supposed to know about the wards."

Harry sighed and turned to head back up the stairs.

"Where are you going, Harry?" Lupin asked quietly.

"Back to my room. If you're just going to treat me like a misbehaving child, I have no interest in talking with any of you. Good evening."

"Harry, please, be reasonable," Lupin implored. "Alastor is just being a grouch. Dumbledore gave us the key and sent us to get you. That's all we know."

Harry stopped, and turned to face the group again. He shook his head in disbelief.

"You guys really are something else. Fine, where are we going?"

"We can't tell you, it's a secret. It's taken a while but we've set up Headquarters somewhere undetectable. Don't worry, we will tell you more once we get to a more secure location."

Harry crossed his arms over his chest.

"You used to trust me, Harry," Lupin said sadly. "What have I done that you no longer do?"

"I… I'm sorry, Professor Lupin," Harry said quietly. "But I can't go with you."

"Why not Harry?" Lupin asked quietly. He studied Harry quietly for a moment. "I see. You were planning on running away again, weren't you?"

Harry nodded.

Moody snorted. "Well, you can't go. You're coming with us. We've got orders to take you to Headquarters, and that's what we're going to do."

"And just how are you going to make me?" Harry growled, green eyes flashing.

"Harry…_please_," said Lupin, holding out his hand to Harry, "Don't do this. You're all I have left of your father and I don't want to loose you too."

Harry snorted, "If you cared that much why didn't you try to even contact me until you started teaching at Hogwarts?"

"I wasn't allowed. After you were brought here, it was ruled in the Wizengamot that no one from the Wizarding world would be allowed to contact you. It was believed that some… less honest persons might attempt to manipulate you in your youth, among other things," Lupin made a rude noise in the back of his throat. "Really it was just a way for the disgraced Pureblood followers of You-Know-Who to take some sort of revenge on you. It is considered a high dishonour for the heir of a wizard to be raised by muggles with no knowledge of his heritage."

There was a low murmur of agreement from the crowd of wizards and witches in the foyer.

"Dumbledore is the head of the Wizengamot, why didn't he do anything?"

"He tried, Harry… but head or not, Dumbledore is just one voice among many. But he did add in a clause that if your life were to ever be threatened while you were living here, at Privet Drive, an appeal could be made to have you moved to a new guardian – either temporarily or permanently."

Harry did not know what to say or do. He stared around at the faces of the witches and wizards. "Is that why you're here?"

"Currently, this is a temporary situation," Lupin said quickly. "But we are trying to make it more permanent. But you have to come with us for us to be able to do anything."

"Why don't I help you get your things," said the violet haired witch brightly, laying a gentle hand on Harry's back. "By the way, my names Tonks."

She led Harry back into the hall and up the stairs, looking around with much curiosity and interest.

"Funny place," she said. "It's a bit _too_ clean, d'you know what I mean? Bit unnatural. My Dad's a Muggle-born and he's a right old slob. But I s'pose it varies, just like it does with wizards… Oh, well, looks like we don't have much to do," she added, as they entered Harry's bedroom and he turned on the light.

Since he'd spent nearly that entire day cleaning, Harry's room nearly matched the rest of Aunt Petunia's immaculate house. He had one of his jean jackets slung over the back of his desk chair, and the book he'd been reading was still lying on his bed beside the Speaking Stone, but besides that, the room was pretty clean.

Harry put on his jacket, transferring his wand into the large inside pocket. Then he put the singular book back inside his trunk, and snapped the lid closed. Tonks paused at his open wardrobe to look critically at her reflection in the mirror on the inside of the door.

"You know, I don't think violet's really my colour," she said pensively, tugging at a lock of spiky hair. "D'you think it makes me look a bit peaky?"

"Er – " said Harry.

"Yeah, it does," Tonks said decisively. She screwed up her eyes in a strained expression as though she was struggling to remember something. A second later, her hair had turned bubble-gum pink.

"How did you do that?" said Harry, gaping at her as she opened her eyes again.

"I'm a Metamorphmagus," she said, looking back at her reflection and turning her head so that she could see her hair from all directions. "It means I can change my appearance at will," she added spotting Harry's puzzled expression in the mirror behind her. "I was born one. I got top marks in Concealment and Disguise during Auror training without any study at all, it was great."

"You're an Auror?" said Harry, impressed. Being a Dark-wizard catcher was the only career he'd ever considered after Hogwarts.

"Yeah," said Tonks, looking proud. "Kingsley is as well – he's that big, bald, black guy downstairs – he's a bit higher up than me, though. I only qualified a year ago. Nearly failed on Stealth and Tracking. I'm dead clumsy, did you hear me break that plate when we arrived downstairs?"

"Can you learn to be a Metamorphmagus?" Harry asked, sitting on the lid of his trunk.

Tonks chuckled. "Bet you wouldn't mind hiding that scar sometimes, eh?"

Her eyes found the lightning-shaped scar on Harry's forehead.

"No, I wouldn't mind," Harry mumbled, turning away. He did not like people staring at his scar.

"Well, you'll have to learn the hard way, I'm afraid," she said. "Metamorphmagi are really rare, they're born, not made. Most wizards need to use a wand, or potions, to change their appearance. But we've got to get going Harry. Are you done packing?" Quickly scanning the nearly empty room she added. "Is that really all you have?"

"Yeah," said Harry with a half-hearted grin. "My whole life fits into one four foot trunk. Well, everything but my broom."

"Wow! – A _Firebolt?_"

Her eyes widened as they fell on the broomstick in Harry's right hand. It was his pride and joy, a gift from Sirius, and an international-standard broomstick.

"And I'm still riding a Comet Two Sixty," she said enviously. "Ah well… still got your wand? Okay, let's go. _Locomotor trunk_."

Harry's trunk rose a few inches into the air. Holding her wand like a conductor's baton, Tonks made the trunk hover across the room and out of the door ahead of them, Hedwig's cage in her left hand. Harry followed her down the stairs carrying his broomstick.

They found the rest of the group in the kitchen. The numerous witches and wizards were investigating the various devices in the Dusleys' kitchen. A particularly rosy-cheeked witch was laughing at a potato peeler. Lupin was sealing a letter addressed to the Dursleys.

"Excellent,' said Lupin, looking up as Tonks and Harry entered. "We've got about a minute, I think. We should probably get out into the garden so we're ready. Harry, I've left a letter telling your aunt and uncle not to worry – "

"They won't," said Harry.

" – that you're safe – "

"That'll just depress them."

" – and that you may not be returning."

"Do you really think so?"

Lupin smiled but made no answer.

"Come here, boy," said Moody gruffly, beckoning Harry towards him with his wand. "I need to Disillusion you."

"You need to what?" said Harry nervously.

"Disillusionment Charm," said Moody, raising his wand. "Lupin says you've got an Invisibility Cloak, but it won't stay on while we're flying; this'll disguise you better. Here you go – "

He rapped him hard on the top of the head and Harry felt a curious sensation as though Moody had just smashed an egg there; cold trickles seemed to be running down his body from the point the wand had struck.

"Nice one, Mad-Eye," said Tonks appreciatively, staring at Harry's midriff.

Harry looked down at his body, or rather what had been his body, for it didn't look anything like his anymore. It was not invisible; it had simple taken on the exact colour and texture of the kitchen unit behind him. He seemed to have become a human chameleon.

"Come on," said Moody, unlocking the back door with his wand.

They all stepped outside on to Uncle Vernon's beautifully kept lawn.

"Clear night," grunted Moody, his magic eye scanning the heavens. "Could've done with a bit more cloud cover. Right, you," he barked at Harry, "we're going to be flying in close formation. Tonks'll be right in front of you, keep close on her tail. Lupin will be covering you from below. I'm going to be behind you. The rest'll be circling us. Don't break ranks for anything, got me? If one of us is killed – "

"Is that likely?" Harry asked apprehensively, but Moody ignored him.

" – the others keep flying, don't stop, don't break ranks. If they take all of us out and you survive, Harry, the rear guard are standing by to take over; keep flying east and they'll join you."

"Stop being so cheerful, Mad-Eye, he'll think we're not taking this seriously," said Tonks, as she strapped Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage to a harness hanging from her broom.

"I'm just telling the boy the plan," growled Moody. "Our job's to deliver him safely to Headquarters and if we die in the attempt – "

"No one's going to die," said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep, calming voice.

"Mount your brooms, that's the first signal!" said Lupin sharply, pointing into the sky.

Far, far above them, a shower of bright red sparks had flared among the stars. Harry recognized them at once as wand sparks. He swung his right leg over his Firebolt, gripped its handle tightly and felt it vibrating very slightly, as though it was as keen as he was to be up in the air once more.

"Second signal, let's go!" said Lupin loudly as more sparks, green this time, exploded high above them.

Harry kicked hard off from the ground. The cool night air rushed through his hair as the neat square gardens of Privet Drive fell away, shrinking rapidly into a patchwork of dark greens and blacks. He'd fanaticised about flying away from Privet Drive so many times, he could hardly believe that it was true. That he was flying away and might never have to return.

"Hard left, hard left, there's a Muggle looking up!" shouted Moody from behind him. Tonks swerved and Harry flowed her, watching his trunk swinging wildly beneath her broom. "We need more height… give it another quarter mile!"

Harry's eyes watered in the chill as they soared upwards; he could see nothing below now but tiny pinpricks of light that were car headlights and streetlamps.

"Bearing south!" shouted Mad-Eye. "Town ahead!"

They soared right to avoid passing directly over the glittering spider's web of lights below.

"Bear southeast and keep climbing, there's some low cloud ahead we can lose ourselves in!" called Moody.

"We're not going through cloud!" shouted Tonks angrily, "we'll get soaked, Mad-Eye!"

Harry was relieved to hear her say this; his hands were growing numb on the Firebolt's handle. He wished he'd thought to grab a warmer jacket; he was starting to shiver.

They altered their course every now and then according to Mad-Eye's instructions. Harry's eyes were screwed up against the rush of icy wind that was starting to make his ears ache; he could remember being this cold on a broom only once before, during the Quiddich match against Hufflepuff in his third year, which had taken place in a storm. He began to long to be sitting on the back of James' motorcycle, with the older boy's body to block the rushing wind, and the full helmet to keep the wind out of his ears and eyes. The guard around him was circling continuously like giant birds of prey. Harry lost track of time. He wondered how long they had been flying; it felt like an hour at least.

"Turning southwest!" yelled Moody. "We want to avoid the motorway!"

Harry was now so chilled he thought longingly of the snug, dry interiors of the cars streaming along below, then, even more longingly, of travelling by Floo powder; it might be uncomfortable to spin around in fireplaces but it was at least warm in the flames…

"We ought to double back for a bit, just to make sure we're not being followed!" Moody shouted.

"ARE YOU MAD, MAD-EYE?" Tonks screamed from the front. "We're all frozen to our brooms! If we keep going off-course we're not going to get there until next week! Besides, we're nearly there now!"

"Time to start the descent!" came Lupin's voice. "Follow Tonks, Harry!"

Harry followed Tonks into a dive. They were heading for the largest collection of lights he had yet seen, a huge, sprawling criss-crossing mass, glittering in lines and grids, interspersed with patched of deepest black. Lower and lower they flew until Harry could see individual headlights and streetlamps, chimney's and television aerials. He wanted to reach the ground very much, though he felt sure someone would have to unfreeze him from his broom.

"Here we go!" called Tonks, and a few seconds later she had landed.

Harry touched down right behind her and dismounted on a patch on unkempt grass in the middle of a small square. Tonks was already unbuckling Harry's trunk. Shivering, Harry looked around. The grimy fronts of the surrounding houses were not welcoming; some of them had broken windows, glimmering dully in the light from the streetlamps, paint was peeling from many of the doors and heaps of rubbish lay outside several sets of front steps.

"Where are we?" Harry asked, but Lupin said quietly, "In a minute."

Moody was rummaging in his cloak, his gnarled hands clumsy with cold.

"Got it," he muttered, raising what looked like a silver cigarette lighter into the air and clicking it.

The nearest streetlamp went out with a pop. He clicked the unlighter again; the next lamp went out; he kept clicking until every lamp in the square was extinguished and the only remaining light came from the curtained windows and the sickle moon overhead.

"Borrowed it from Dumbledore," growled Moody, pocking the Put-Outer. "That'll take care of any Muggles looking out of the window, see? Now come on then, quick."

He took Harry by the arm and lead him from the patch of grass, across the road, and onto the pavement; Lupin and Tonks followed, carrying Harry's trunk between them, the rest of the guard, all with their wands out, flanking them.

The muffled pounding of a stereo was coming from an upper window in the nearest house. A pungent smell of rotting rubbish came from the pile of bulging bin-bags just inside the broken gate.

"Here," Moody muttered, thrusting a piece of parchment towards Harry's Disillusioned hand and holding his lit wand close to it, so as to illuminate the writing. "Read quickly and memorize."

Harry looked down at the piece of paper. The narrow handwriting was vaguely familiar. It said:

_The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London._

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**Author's Notes:**Main changes to this chapter: Harry plans to run away with James. And we learn why Lupin never contacted Harry before the Prisoner of Azkaban. Harry also seems to be developing a stronger, push-me-I'll-push-back attitude. We also see that Harry can be easily distracted because as soon as he hears he may not have to return once he leaves with Lupin, he forgets that he was supposed to be meeting James in the Park.


	5. The Order of The Pheonix

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything Harry Potter; all characters/ settings etc, from the books and or movies are property of J.K Rowling and whatever Movie producer attached additional copyright to the franchise. I write merely for my own amusement and to improve my skills.**

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_**The Order of the Phoenix**_

_The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number 12, Grimmauld Place, London._

"What's the Order of the -?" Harry began.

"Not here, boy!" snarled Moody. "Wait till we're inside!"

He pulled the piece of parchment out of Harry's hand and set fire to it with his wand-tip. As the message curled into flames and floated to the ground, Harry looked around at the houses again. They were standing outside number eleven; he looked to the left and saw number ten; to the right, however, was number thirteen.

"But where's-?"

"Think about what you've just memorized," said Lupin quietly.

Harry thought, and no sooner had he reached the part about number twelve, Grimmauld Place, than a battered door emerged out of nowhere between numbers eleven and thirteen, followed swiftly by dirty walls and grimy windows. It was as though an extra house had inflated, pushing those on either side out of the way. Harry gaped at it. The stereo in number eleven thudded on. Apparently the Muggles inside hadn't felt anything.

"Come on, hurry," growled Moody, prodding Harry in the back.

Harry growled back, hefting his broom he stormed up the worn stone steps. The black paint of the newly materialized door was shabby and scratched. The silver doorknocker was in the form of a twisted serpent. There was no keyhole or letterbox.

Lupin pulled out his wand and tapped the door once. Harry heard many loud, metallic clicks and what sounded like the clatter of a chain. The door creaked open.

"Get in quick, Harry," Lupin whispered, "but don't go far inside, and don't touch anything."

Harry stepped over the threshold into the darkness beyond. He could smell damp, dust and the musty scent of rot. The place had the feeling of a derelict building. He could see little in the light from the open door, just a long hallway. Looking back over his shoulder he saw the others filing behind him. Tonks and Lupin were carrying his trunk. Moody stood just outside the door on the top step releasing the balls of light captured from the streetlamps. With each flick of the Put-Outer a little orange ball zoomed back across the square to its bulb. The sooty light briefly illuminated the square before Moody limped inside and closed the door behind him.

"Here – "

He rapped Harry hard on the top of the head. Harry felt like something hot was running down his back, and he knew that the Disillusionment Charm had been lifted.

"No, everyone stay put while I give us a bit of light," Moody whispered.

"Why is everyone whispering?" Harry asked.

"Wizard portraits, Harry," Lupin hissed in his ear. "We don't want to wake them up."

There was a hiss and a sputtering sound, and then old-fashioned gas lanterns flickered to life all along the hallway. In the fluttering, insubstantial light Harry saw the peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpet of a long, gloomy hallway. Age-blackened portraits hung crooked on the walls and overhead dust collected on a cobweb-covered chandelier shaped like a many-headed serpent.

The door at the end of the hall opened, and out scampered Ron's mother, Mrs Weasley. She was beaming in welcome, though, Harry did note that she was looking rather thinner and paler than the last time he had seen her.

"Oh, Harry," she said, pulling him into a rib-cracking hug. "Its good to see you again, love." She held him out at arms length and looked critically at him. "You're looking a bit peaky, you need feeding up. But you'll have to wait for dinner I'm afraid."

"Molly," said Moody gruffly, "I think we may have been followed."

Mrs Weasley frowned, "It will have to wait until after the meet, he's just arrived and the meeting is started."

There was a tumultuous murmur of anticipation and the wizards and witches began filing past Harry and into the door Mrs Weasley had just emerged from. Harry made to follow Lupin but Mrs Weasley restrained him.

"Sorry, Harry," she said. "But the meeting is members of the Order only. Ron and Hermione are waiting upstairs. You can wait with them until the meeting's over and then we'll have dinner. Oh, and be quiet in the hallway."

Harry glanced up the stairs and sighed. "I know, so I don't wake anything up."

"It's just up that way, second floor, first door on the right. Do you need me to show you the way, dear?" she asked hurriedly.

"I think I can manage, Mrs Weasley. Thank you," Harry said as politely as possible.

"I'll call when the meeting's over. Off with you now."

Harry heaved another great sigh, skirted an umbrella stand that looked like it had been fashioned from a severed trolls leg, and slowly mounted the stairs. The grim old place carried inside it the sombre, suppressed feel of a graveyard. All around were serpent motifs, and mounted on a wall aside the stairs was a series of little shrunken heads mounted on plaques. A closer inspection revealed them to be stuffed house-elf heads. With every step Harry's bewilderment grew, what were they doing in a place that looked as though it belonged to the Darkest of wizards?

When he reached the second landing, he crossed the dingy landing and turned a doorknob shaped like a serpent's head affixed to the right-most door. He caught a brief glimpse of a gloomy high-ceilinged twin-bedded room; then there was a loud twittering noise followed by an even louder shriek, and his vision was completely obscured by a large mass of overly bushy brown hair. Hermione had thrown herself on him in a hug that nearly knocked him flat, while Ron's tiny owl, Pigwidgeon, zoomed excitedly round and round their heads.

"HARRY! Ron, he's here! Harry's here! We didn't hear you arrive! Oh, how _are_ you? Are you all right? Have you been furious with us? I bet you have, I know our letters were useless – but we couldn't tell you anything. Dumbledore made us swear we wouldn't, oh, but now that you're here, we've got so much to tell you, and you've got things to tell us – the Dementors – and that boy – "

"Let him breathe, Hermione," said Ron closing the bedroom door behind Harry. He seemed to have grown several inches during their month apart, making him taller and more gangly looking than ever before – although the long nose, red hair and freckles were still the same.

Still beaming, Hermione released Harry. Hedwig swooped down off the top of the wardrobe and settled on Harry's shoulder.

"There you are," Harry said to her, "I've been worried about you."

"She's got a right nasty temper, that one," Ron said. "Nearly took my fingers off after we got your letters." He held up his much-bandaged fingers for emphasis. Harry almost felt guilty when he saw Hermione also had similar bandages on her hands, but he was more proud of Hedwig for obeying him than he was sorry that the owl had harassed his friends, in fact, he got a small sense of bitter satisfaction from it.

Harry transferred Hedwig onto a bedpost and slipped out of his cold jean jacket, rubbing his arms until the warmth returned. The silence was the most awkward he'd ever felt between himself and his two dear friends.

"So," he said conversationally, "Dumbledore made you swear not to tell me?"

"Oh, we wanted to Harry," Ron said quickly. "Hermione was going spare, she kept saying you'd do something stupid if left on your own with no news. But Dumbledore made us – "

"Swear not to tell me, I get it," Harry finished. "I get it. I understand. It's fine. Really."

The warm glow that had flared inside him at the sight of his two best friends was extinguished as something icy flooded the pit of his stomach. All of a sudden – after yearning to see them for a solid month – he felt he would rather Ron and Hermione left him alone. The person who he really wanted to see right now, was James.

"Hey, you're looking really good, Harry, you get new clothes?" Ron said, hopefully, trying to change the subject.

"Hmm? Oh, yes. James got them for me," said Harry, admiring the dragon and phoenix design on the front of his new favourite red t-shirt. "It was a birthday present."

"Oh!" squeaked Hermione, "is James the fellow we keep hearing about?"

"You've heard of him? I suppose, yes, they would have told you about that. My shadows?"

"We hear that you've been running off with him, nearly everyday, Harry, that's not safe, the people Dumbledore's got watching you can't follow, what if something bad happened?"

"Well, I suppose James would be able to handle it, he saved my life when the Dementor's showed up. Since then he's been by every day to see me. He's been a good friend. A real good friend."

Hermione chewed on her lower lip. "He was so angry," said Hermione in an almost awestruck voice. "Dumbledore. We saw him. When he found out Mundungus had left before his shift ended. He was scary. He's still kind of scary every time someone reports back that they keep loosing sight of you."

"Well, I'm glad Mundungus left," said Harry coldly. "If he hadn't, I wouldn't have met James…" Harry stopped dead, pointing an accusing finger at Hermione, "… that's what this is about isn't it? That's why Dumbledore finally had me pulled from Privet Drive! Its not about the Dementors at all!"

"What are you talking about, Harry?" said Ron, looking highly disconcerted.

"JAMES!" Harry bellowed. "I'm talking about James! I bet Dumbledore didn't like that one bit did he? Slipped out from under his thumb, didn't I?! I found a person who cared enough to talk to me, to come by everyday just to see how I was doing! IF HE THINKS THAT HE CAN JUST ORDER ME AROUND WITHOUT TELLING ME ANYTHING HE IS BLOODY WELL MISTAKEN! I CAN HANDLE MYSELF! I'VE HANDLED MORE THAN YOU TWO'VE EVER MANAGED AND DUMBLEDORE KNOWS IT – " Harry's voice rose to volumes rivalling his Uncle Vernon. Hedwig bated and swooped up to the relative safety on top of the wardrobe. Harry felt every bitter and resentful thought build up inside him, wanting to be let out, he opened his mouth to let out another hurtful tirade, but he stopped, sighed, looking at the faces of his friends, Ron looked stunned, and Hermione looked like she was ready to burst into tears.

Harry balled up a fist and brought it down on the headboard. "Damn, I should have just left with him," he whispered.

"Pardon?" said Ron.

"It's nothing, just another missed opportunity." Harry flopped backwards onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Hermione came and sat beside him, and Ron sat on the edge of the bed across from him. Both wore near identical expressions of worry.

"Harry, I'm sorry," said Hermione softly.

"Why? It's not your fault," Harry said quietly, even though the apology did make him feel a little better. "What _is _this place, anyway?" asked Harry, emerald eyes taking in the dark, dingy room.

"Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix," said Ron at once.

"Is anyone going to bother telling me what the Order of the Phoenix is?"

"It's a secret society," said Hermione quickly, "Dumbledore's in charge, he founded it. It's the people who fought against You-Know-Who last time."

"Who's in it?" said Harry, rising up onto one elbow.

"Quite a few people –"  
"We've met about twenty of them," said Ron, "but we think there are more."

"_Well?_" Harry demanded, looking from one to the other.

"Er," said Ron. "Well what?"

"_Voldemort!_" snapped Harry harshly, and both Ron and Hermione winced. "What's happening? What's he up to? Where is he? What are we doing to stop him?"

"Mum won't let us in on the meetings, says we're too young – " Ron started to say

" – So we don't know the details," Hermione cut in, seeing the look on Harry's face. "But, we've got a general idea."

"Fred and George have invented Extendable Ears, see," said Ron. "They're really useful."

"Extendable -?"

"Ears, yeah. Only we've had to stop using them lately because Mum found out and went berserk. Fred and George had to hide them all to stop Mum binning them. But we got a good bit of use out of them before Mum realised what was going on. We know some of the Order are following known Death Eaters, keeping tabs on them, you know –"

"Some of them are working on recruiting more people to the Order – " said Hermione.

"And some of them are standing guard over something," said Ron. "They're always talking about guard duty."

"Couldn't have been me, could it?" said Harry sarcastically.

"Oh, yeah," said Ron with a look of dawning comprehension.

"Actually, Harry, I don't think they were talking about you. You see your shadows would always come back with reports of you going off with that boy – James. This other guard duty seems to be more of a – stationary job.

Harry snorted, "Well, its not much. But it's more information than I've had on Voldemort in a long time. So, what have you two been doing, if you're not allowed in the meetings?" he demanded. "You'd said you'd been busy."

"We have," said Hermione quickly. "We've been decontaminating this house, it's been empty for ages and stuff's been breeding here. We've managed to clean out the kitchen, most of the bedrooms, and I think we're doing the drawing room tomo – AARGH!"

With two loud cracks, Fred and George, Ron's elder twin brothers, had materialised out of thin air in the middle of the room. Pigwidgeon twittered more wildly than ever and zoomed off to hide on top of the wardrobe.

"Stop _doing_ that!" Hermione said weakly to the twins, who were as vividly red-haired as Ron, though stockier and slightly shorter.

"Hello, Harry," said George, beaming at him. "We thought we heard your dulcet tones."

"You don't want to bottle your anger like that, Harry, let it all out," said Fred, also beaming. "There might be a couple of people fifty miles away who didn't hear you."

"You two passed your Appartation tests, then?" asked Harry grumpily.

"With distinction," said Fred, who was holding what looked like a piece of very long, flesh-coloured string.

"It would have taken you about thirty seconds longer to walk down the stairs," said Ron.

"Time is Galleons, little brother," said Fred. "Anyway, Harry, you're interfering with reception. Extendable Ears," he added in response to Harry's raised eyebrows, and held up the string which Harry now saw was trailing out on to the landing. "We're trying to hear what's going on downstairs."

"You want to be careful," said Ron, staring at the Ear, "if Mum sees one of them again…"

"It's worth the risk, that's a major meeting they're having," said Fred.

The door opened and a long mane of red hair appeared.

"Oh, hello, Harry!" said Ron's younger sister, Ginny, brightly. "I thought I heard your voice."

Turning to Fred and George, she said, "It's a no-go with the Extendable Ears, she's gone and put and Imperturbable Charm on the kitchen door."

"How d'you know?" said George, looking crestfallen.

"Tonks told me how to find out," said Ginny. "You just chuck stuff at the door and if it can't make contact the door's been Imperturbed. I've been flicking Dungbombs at it from the top of the stairs and they just soar away from it, so there's no way the Extendable Ears will be able to get under the gap."

Fred heaved a deep sigh.

"Shame. I really fancied finding out what old Snape's been up to."

"Snape!" said Harry quickly. "Is he here?"

"Yeah," said George, carefully closing the door and sitting down on the bed opposite Harry; Fred and Ginny followed. "Giving a report. Top secret."

"Git," said Fred idly.

"He's on our side now," said Hermione reprovingly.

Ron snorted. "Doesn't stop him from being a git. They way he looks at us when he sees us."

"Does anyone know how to remove an Imperturbable Charm?" Harry asked.

Every one turned and looked at Hermione.

"Actually… I don't. But I can find out. I'll go get my books…" Hermione said and started for the door. Harry laughed and grabbed her by the arm.

"S'alright. Hermione, you don't have to go right now. But it is something to think about for later."

Hermione flushed.

"Alright, but I _will_ figure out how to do it."

"Nobody doubts you will," Harry laughed, and all the others nodded or whopped in agreement.

"So, how's your family doing Ron?" Harry said, figuring the Weasley brood would be a rather neutral topic to while away the time until dinner. Fred and George normally had some pretty humorous tales to tell.

"Well, Bill's moved back to England, got a desk job at Gringott's so that he could work closer with the Order," Ron said, taking a seat on the other bed. "He says he misses the tombs, but there are compensations." Ron wiggled his brows suggestively.

"Oh?" Harry asked in amusement.

"You remember Fleur Delacour? Well, she got a job at Gringott's to _eemprove 'er eenglesh._"

"And Bill's been giving her lots of private lessons," added Fred.

"Charlie's still in Romainia, trying to make allies on his days off. Dumbledore says he wants as many foreign wizards in the Order as possible," said George.

"Couldn't Percy do that?" Harry asked. The last he had heard, the third Weasley brother was working in the Department of International Magical Co-operation at the Ministry of Magic.

At Harry's words, all the Weasleys and Hermione exchanged darkly significant looks.

"Whatever you do, don't mention Percy in front of Mum and Dad," Ron told Harry in a tense voice.

"Why not?"

"Because every time Percy's name is mentioned, Dad breaks whatever he's holding, and Mum starts crying," Fred said.

"It's been awful," said Ginny sadly.

"I think we're well shot of him," said George, with an uncharacteristically ugly look on his face.

"What happened?" Harry said.

"Percy and Dad had a row," said Fred, "I've never seen Dad shout with anyone like that. It's normally Mum who shouts."

"It was the first week after the term ended," said Ron. "We were about to come and join the Order. Percy came home and told us he'd been promoted."

"You're kidding?" said Harry.

Though he knew Percy was highly ambitious, Harry's impression was that Percy had not made a great success of his first job at the Ministry of Magic. Percy had committed the fairly large oversight of failing to notice Lord Voldemort was controlling his boss (not that the Ministry had believed it – they thought Mr Crouch had gone mad).

"Yeah, we were all surprised," said George, "because Percy got into a load of trouble about Crouch, there was an inquiry and everything. They said Percy ought to have realized Crouch was off his rocker and informed a superior. But you know Percy, Crouch left him in charge, he wasn't going to complain."

"So how come they promoted him?"

"That's exactly what we wondered," said Ron, who seemed very keen to keep a normal conversation going. "He came home really pleased with himself – even more pleased than usual, if you can imagine that – and told Dad he'd been offered a position in Fudge's own office. A really good one for someone only a year out of Hogwarts: Junior Assistant to the Minister. He expected Dad to be all impressed I think."

"Only Dad wasn't," said Fred grimly.

"Why not?" said Harry.

"Well, apparently Fudge has been storming around the Ministry checking that nobody's having any contact with Dumbledore," said George.

"Dumbledore's name is mud with the Ministry these days, see," said Fred. "They all think he's just making trouble saying You-Know-Who's back."

"Dad says Fudge has made it clear that anyone who's in league with Dumbledore can clear out their desks," said George.

"Trouble is, Fudge suspects Dad, he knows he's friendly with Dumbledore, and he's always thought Dad's a bit of a weirdo because of his Muggle obsession," said Fred.

"But what's that got to do with Percy?" asked Harry, confused.

"I'm coming to that. Dad reckons Fudge only wants Percy in his office because he wants to use him to spy on the family – and Dumbledore."

Harry let out a low whistle.

"Bet Percy loved that."

Ron laughed in a hollow sort of way.

"He went completely berserk. He said – well, he said loads of terrible stuff. He said he's been having to struggle against Dad's lousy reputation ever since he joined the Ministry and that Dad's got no ambition and that's why we've always been – you know – not had a lot of money, I mean – "

Harry could only shake his head in disbelief.

Ginny made a noise like an angry cat.

"I know," said Ron in a low voice. "And it got worse. He said some nasty things about Dad, and Dumbledore, and that he – Percy – was going to show where his loyalty was, and that it was with the Ministry. He also said that if Mum and Dad were going to be traitors to the Ministry he'd show everyone that he had no part of us. And he packed his bags the same night and left. He's living here in London now."

Harry swore under his breath. He had always liked Percy least of Ron's brothers, but he had never imagined he would say such things to Mr Weasley.

"Mum's been in a right state," said Ron dully. "You know – crying and stuff. She came up to London to try and talk to Percy but he slammed the door in her face. I dunno what he does if he meets Dad at work – ignores him I s'pose."

"But Percy _must _know Voldemort's back," said Harry slowly. "He's not stupid, he must know your mum and dad wouldn't risk everything without proof."

"Yeah, well, your name got dragged into the row," said Ron, shooting Harry a furtive look. "Percy said the only evidence was your word and … I dunno… he didn't think it was good enough."

"Percy takes the _Daily Prophet_ seriously," said Hermione tartly, and the others nodded.

"I see. Say no more. I understand." Harry sighed heavily and flopped backward unto the bed again so he was staring up at the ceiling. "That's just perfect. Just bloody peachy." He sighed again.

"Y'know, you're taking this all a hell of a lot better than anyone thought you would, Harry," said George.

"Yeah, Mum thought you'd be fit to tie," continued Fred.

"I've already ranted about it. Didn't change anything. S'not much I can do," Harry remarked dully.

They were saved the necessity of finding another topic of conversation by a horrible, ear splitting, blood-curdling screech.

"Uh oh."

Fred gave the Extendable Ear a hearty tug; there was another loud crack and he and George vanished.

"What's that?" said Harry, bolting to the door and peering over the landing railing. Professor Snape was standing just inside the open front door, and Tonks was lying flat on the floor beside the umbrella stand. Mrs Weasley and Lupin were struggling with a set of curtains. The screeching voice of a woman echoed up the stairwell.

_"Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, be gone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers-"_

Gradually, other voices joined the shrieking as the other portraits awoke and began to yell.

In the confusion, Snape closed the door, and nicked up the stairs.

"Potter," said Snape, "There you are. Good."

"What do you want?" Harry snapped.

"I have something for you," Snape continued, ignoring Harry. He pulled a letter out of a fold in his robes and held it out to Harry.

"What is it?"

"A letter," Snape sneered. "I thought that should be obvious. Tell no one who gave it to you, and show it to no one until after you've read it."

Harry took the letter, "What's it say?"

"I don't know, I didn't read it," Snape said, then Disapparated.

Harry ran his thumb over the edge of the letter, grumbled something incomprehensible and stuffed the letter in his jeans pocket. Cautiously Harry descended the stairs. Mrs Weasley had abandoned the attempt to close the curtains and hurried up and down the hall, Stunning all the other portraits with her wand. A man with long black hair came charging out of a door facing Harry.

"Shut up, you horrible old hag, shut UP!" he roared, seizing the curtain Mrs Weasley had abandoned. Harry at first thought it was a window the curtains had hidden, a window behind which an incredibly old woman was being tortured. Then he realised it was a portrait, but the most hideous and life like portrait he had ever seen. The skin of the woman's face was sallow, and stretched taunt against her skull, her fierce grey eyes rolled as she shrieked and clawed at the air with her hands.

"_Yooooou!"_ she howled, her eyes popping at the sight of the man. "_Blood traitor, abomination, shame of my flesh!"_

"I said – shut – UP!" roared the man, and with a stupendous effort he and Lupin managed to force the curtains closed again.

The old woman's screeches died and an echoing silence fell.

Panting slightly and sweeping his long dark hair out of his eyes, Harry's godfather Sirius turned to face him.

"Hello, Harry," he said grimly, "I see you've met my mother."

"Your mother?"

"My dear old mum, yeah," said Sirius, "We've been trying to get her down for a month, but we think she put a Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of the canvas. Let's go downstairs, quick, before they all wake up again."

"But what's a portrait of your mother doing here?" Harry asked bewildered, as they went through the door from the hall and led the way down a flight of narrow stone steps, the others just behind them.

"Hasn't anyone told you? This was my parents' house," said Sirius. "But I'm the last Black left, so it's mine now. I offered it to Dumbledore for Headquarters – about the only useful thing I've been able to do."

Harry, who had expected a better welcome, noted how bitter Sirius' voice sounded. He followed his godfather to the bottom of the steps and through a door leading to the basement kitchen.

It was scarcely less gloomy than the hall above; a cavernous room with rough stonewalls. Most of the light was coming from a large fire at the end of the room. A haze of pipe smoke hung in the air like battle fumes, through which loomed the menacing shapes of heavy iron pots and pans hanging from the dark ceiling. Many chairs had been crammed into the room for the meeting and a long wooden table stood in the middle of them, littered with rolls of parchment, goblets, empty wine bottles, and a heap of what appeared to be rags. Mr Weasley and his eldest son Bill were talking quietly with their heads together at the end of the table.

Mrs Weasley cleared her throat. Her husband, a thin, balding, red-haired man who wore horn-rimmed glasses, look around and jumped to his feet.

"Harry!" Mr Weasley said, hurrying forward to greet him, and shaking his hand vigorously. "Good to see you!"

Over his shoulder Harry saw Bill, who still work his long hair in a ponytail, hastily rolling up the lengths of parchment left of the table.

"Journey all right, Harry?" Bill called, trying to gather up twelve scrolls at once. "Mad-Eye didn't make you come via Greenland, then?"

"He tried," said Tonks, striding over to help Bill and immediately toppling a candle over on to the last piece of parchment. "Oh no – _sorry –_"

"Here, dear," said Mrs Weasley, sounding exasperated, and she repaired the parchment with a wave of her wand. In the flash of light caused by Mrs Weasley's charm Harry caught a glimpse of what looked like the plan of a building.

Mrs Weasley had seen him looking. She snatched the plan off the table and stuffed it into Bill's already over laden arms.

"This sort of thing ought to be cleared away promptly at the end of meetings," she snapped, before sweeping of towards an ancient dresser from which she started unloading dinner plates.

Bill took out his wand, muttered _'Evenesco'_ and the scrolls vanished.

Up until the end of dinner, the evening went quietly; Harry got an apology from the pile of rags, which turned out to be Mundungus Fletcher, Tonks only broke a few dishes while trying to help, and Mrs Weasley only yelled at Fred and George once for attempting to do everything by magic. After talking with his godfather for a while, Harry truly came to understand that his summer had been grand, especially when compared to Sirius'. The Ministry of Magic was still after Sirius for escaping from Azkaban, and with Wormtail being in the present company of Lord Voldemort, and therefore knowing about Sirius' Animagus abilities, Dumbledore had shelved Sirius.

There was something in the slightly flattened tone of voice in which Sirius uttered Dumbledore's name that told Harry that Sirius, too, was not very happy with the Headmaster, and he felt a sudden upsurge of affection for his godfather. They shared the same troubles, at least somewhat. It was good not to be alone.

Over dinner, Mrs Weasley talked Boggarts and Doxys in the curtains, while Bill, Lupin and Mr Weasley discussed goblins, and Tonks re-arranged her face.

After dessert, Sirius started a row with Mrs Weasley when he invited Harry to start asking questions about Voldemort.

While Harry was happy to have his godfather defend his right to answers, and he was deeply touched when Mrs Weasley said he was as good as her son – but tonight, for some reason, the bickering and bitterness made him sick.

"WOULD YOU BOTH JUST CAN IT?" Harry bellowed.

Silence followed, Mrs Weasley and Sirius were struck dumb.

"You're not my parents!" Harry yelled. "I don't have any, and I don't need any! I can take care of myself! I've been doing it for years!" Harry stood, fists clenched at his sides. "I don't need you to 'protect' me. Because guess what? When something goes wrong, you're not going to be there." He pointed at Ron and Hermione; "I have more faith in them being able to help me than you two. So you'd better damn well tell me what's going on, because when it comes down to it, it's going to be _my_ life on the line."

"Harry, that's unfair," said Sirius.

"Grow up, Sirus," Harry snarled, "life ain't fair. I learned that a long time ago."

Sirius glared.

"Now," said Harry, "I'm tired, and I'm mad. I suggest we all get some sleep and continue this discussion in the morning, perhaps cooler heads will prevail." Then he turned on his heel and stormed out of the kitchen.

Up in the room Mrs Weasley had assigned him too, he lay down on his bed, and took out the letter Professor Snape had given him. It read, in feminine script:

_My Dearest Harry,_

_You most likely will never have heard of me. My name is Lenore Potter-Varga, and I am the younger sister of your father, James Potter. Often I have wished to write to you, or even to visit you in your seclusion from our family, but it was not to be. I have been barred from all contact with you, my godson and dear nephew, when I should have been given charge to rear you, by the law of your government, lest there have been war between our nations. Apparently, my dear nephew, you are some sort of national treasure that must remain in England, and I, a member of Spain's Ruling Council, with no of age heir, was told in no uncertain terms that I could not abandon my Chair to be with you in England. Thus was the house of my father disgraced by having its heir raised as a foundling. _

_But I should not burden you with my grievances, for this was not the purpose of my writing to you in secret. It was my intention to reveal to you a secret I have kept a long time, even from my friend, Severus, who delivered this message to you. I would speak it clearly, but cannot be certain that this letter will not fall into unfriendly hands. So only this will I say: Prongs still stands. I can tell you no more in writing, but I assure you, that we will be seeing you soon. I will advise you against replying. _

_Until then, _

_Your Aunt,_

_Lenore_

Harry read the letter through several times, then put his head down on his pillow, and wept.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**Lots going on in this chapter, harry arrives at the Order of the Pheonix and looses his temper... a lot. Poor kid's under a great deal of stress I should think. Anyway, this chapter ended up being both very similar and very different from the original. The greatest difference was the letter Harry recieved at the end.

I'm sorry this chapter was so late in coming, I had it finished weeks ago, and would have continued updating on Saturdays as was becoming my habit, but by computer cpntracted a nasty virus and I had to reformate my harddrive. Luckily for me, I managed to save my important files (including this fanfic) on an external harddrive before the meltdown. bad news is for the last three weeks I have been unable to write, so the next chapter isn't done yet. I will be posting it as soon as it is finished.


	6. Master of the House

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter, it's world and characters are property of J.K Rowling. I don't own anything.**

* * *

_**Master of the House**_

**_James_**

Instinct. It was instinct that had moved James to be at the park on Wisteria Walk over an hour before he was supposed to meet Harry there. It was luck that had him looking up at the right time to see a group of wizards flying off on broomsticks.

'_Sloppy'_ he mentally chided. Honestly, what was the point of Disillusioning only one member of a group? The rest were still perfectly visible.

With the turn of a key, the engine on James' bike roared to life. The push of a button sent a cold, tingling feeling up his legs as the Disillusionment Charm built into his bike took effect. Pushing another button silenced the engine. Grimly, James stepped down on a secondary foot peddle at the same time as he hit the gas and the motorcycle leapt into the air.

The group of wizards tried to make themselves hard to follow, rapidly changing directions and altitude, but in the open sky it made little difference for a group as large as they were. Without something to cause a pursuer to loose visual contact (and the group was avoiding going through the low hanging clouds) there was no way to actually shake pursuit. No one left the group to engage him. If they knew he was following, they did not show it.

After an hour or more of zigzagging across southern England, the band of wizards finally touched down in a shady part of London. James circled the spot where they landed. He watched, wondering where they were going.

Then one by one, the streetlights went dark. When the light returned, they were gone.

The tires of the bike squealed when they hit the pavement. James hit the break, and killed the engine. He removed his helmet, set it gently on the seat, and took a few exploratory steps away from the bike. Once assured that the Disillusionment Charm still worked, James carefully inspected the area, looking for clues to where Harry had been taken. A small pile of warm ash lay on the grass square in the midst of the dirty street. James surveyed the area; the street sign read _Grimmauld Place_. That sounded vaguely familiar, but James couldn't place where he'd heard it before. From where he was standing, he could see number ten and eleven to his left, and number thirteen to his right.

He shrugged and walked into the space between eleven and thirteen, and came to an alley. He turned around and walked back, and came to the street.

"_Maybe it's just a muggle mistake and the houses are actually miss-numbered,"_ James mused. _"Or there is some pretty strong defensive magic here."_ James leaned back on his bike, and waited.

Eventually, people began appearing from the gap between the houses. Some strolled out casually as though they had every right to be walking the street in the middle of the night. Others cast furtive glances about before hastily scampering off. James counted some twenty-four individuals. He discretely followed a few of them on foot, until they all eventually stepped into phone booths or up fire escapes and Disappartated.

He returned to his bike, and he waited some more. Pondering a solution to the current predicament, James' eyes never left the gap between numbers eleven and thirteen. Absently he toyed with the Speaking Stone around his neck.

'_Nothing cut from the same source can ever be truly separated.'_ James clenched his fist around the Stone; he felt a pull towards the gap in the houses. James knew he was probably worrying over nothing but he had to know for sure.

"Harry," James whispered, "Harry?"

The Stone lit up, shimmering with a soft white light. "James?" came the slightly echoed reply from within the heart of the Stone.

"Where are you?" James asked. "Are your Aunt and Uncle giving you problems?"

"Huh? Oh, no… not at all. I'm not there anymore."

"Well, where are you?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"I just can't, I'm sorry, James. But I probably won't be able to see you again before I go to school."

"Are you okay, Harry? You sound like you've been crying."

"I'm fine. Really. Don't worry about me. Look, I've got to go. Someone's coming."

The Stone went dark. The brief conversation had done very little to reassure James that Harry was not in trouble.

Several times James took a spin around the block on his motorcycle seeking some alternate way to find Harry. He always returned to the un-kept grass in the square of Grimmauld Place.

Dawn came, blushing pink and gold above the black roofs of London. James was tired and cold, but he was not leaving without seeing Harry. With the sunrise came movement in the muggle houses, as weary men and women rose and left their homes to strike out once more into the workforce. To avoid the awkward complications of having someone walk into you while invisible, James momentarily abandoned his stakeout. He stayed away from Grimmauld Place for the better part of two hours before returning.

'_Think, where have you heard of Grimmauld Place before?' _James toyed with the chains around his neck, fiddling with the Speaking Stone. _'Grimmauld Place, Grimmauld Place, number twelve Grimmauld Place…'_

A light went on in James' brain, and not just a little dust covered 40-watt bulb, but a 15 kW high intensity lamp flicked on with such brilliance that James wondered how he could have failed to see something so obvious before.

It all lay in number twelve Grimmauld Place.

"Reg," James said, holding the Speaking Stone by the outer silver ring. The face of his friend swirled into view in the heart of the Stone. "Reg, I need your help. Meet me in the Square by Grimmauld Place quickly." He could see Reg's nod in the Stone before the connection winked out.

Minutes later there was a _pop_ less than a foot away from the front tire of James' bike.

Reg was slightly above average height for a man, he had long, coarse, black hair that he wore in a ponytail, and his strong, chiselled face was covered in thick, jagged scars that ran from hairline to jaw, disappearing under the high collar of his black robes. One of his grey eyes was covered in a plain black eye patch.

"Where are you, James?" He said in a quiet, hoarse, grating voice that sounded a lot like he'd been chewing gravel.

With a flick of his wand, James dispelled the Disillusionment Charm.

"I'm right here, Reg. Any closer and you might have landed on me."

"What can I help you with, old friend?"

James pointed across the road.

"Number twelve is missing."

"And you can't get in?" Reg raised a brow and chuckled, an entirely unpleasant sound as mirthful as it may have been.

James sighed and ran a hand through his golden hair.

"You can get in, can't you?"

"The house will recognize its master," said Reg smugly, "Kreacher!"

There was a crack and a cowering house-elf appeared at Reg's feet.

It appeared to be very old and naked except for a filthy rag tied like a loincloth around its waist. Its grimy skin seemed to be several sizes too big for it and though it was bald like all house-elves there was a large quantity of white hair growing out of its bat-like ears. Its eyes were blood-shot, watery grey, and its fleshy nose was large and very snout-like.

At the sight of the pathetic thing cowering on the pavement, Reg's hard face softened, and he knelt on the ground pulling the house-elf into a gentle hug.

"Oh, Kreacher, what have they done to you?" he asked softly.

Kreacher blinked, eyes watering in the glare of the morning sun.

"Can it be? Is it truly? Has Kreacher's old eyes finally betrayed him, his old heart stopped? Has Master Regulus returned from the dead to take his loyal Kreacher away from the filth that has invaded his Mistress' house?" said the house-elf in tones of quiet awe, reaching out with dirt encrusted fingers to touch the side of Regulus' face, his eyes wide in disbelief.

"No, I've not returned from the dead Kreacher. I've returned home. Am I still Master of this house as my father's rightful, chosen heir?"

"YES! Yes! Yes! Master Regulus is master! Not filthy, treacherous shame to my Mistress' flesh that poses and defiles and – "

"Enough, Kreacher, you will not speak of my brother that way."

"Yes, Master, whatever Master wishes, Kreacher will do."

"Good." He scooped Kreacher up in his arms as he stood, carrying the slight house-elf in the crook of one arm, much the way a mother might carry a child. "You always were loyal to me, Kreacher."

Regulus looked across the road at Grimmauld Place. The black door and dirty stonewalls of the ancient number twelve now loomed up between numbers eleven and thirteen.

"I can see it now, James. As ugly as it ever was."

* * *

**Regulus**

The ancient magic that bound the house to its master was powerful, developed by the powerful, paranoid pureblood families of old. In a way it was akin to the magic that bound a house-elf to the land, the land to the house, and by that right, to the master of the house. Regulus didn't quite understand it but once someone from inside the house recognized him as the true Lord Black there was no spell strong enough to keep him out of number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

"You'll have to wait here, James. Being Lord Black will get me in but I can't take you with me," Regulus said.

"And what am I supposed to do?"

Regulus shrugged, "Relax. Have a smoke."

James glared.

"How will I know which one of them is Harry?" Regulus asked.

"You'll know him when you see him," said James with certainty.

Regulus nodded, and with Kreacher in tow crossed the street.

The battered black door unlocked at the touch of Regulus' fingers and opened with a sound much like a pleased sigh.

Standing in the entry hall Regulus' looked around slowly; surveying the dank walls, the moth-eaten velvet curtains that covered the portrait hall, the rickety furniture, and the serpentine decorations.

"Kreacher is sorry that he has been lacking in his cleaning but Master was gone for so very long. Kreacher has been all by his oneness – "

"It's all right, Kreacher," said Regulus, "I understand." A clatter from the kitchen alerted Regulus to the presence of others in the house. He nicked up the stairs and into an empty room. Though a crack in the door he watched a short, plump, matronly woman with fiery red hair loosely secured in a sloppy topknot make her way up the stairs.

Regulus looked questioningly at Kreacher.

"That's the bossy one," Kreacher snarled. "Oh, she is shouting and ordering always. Thinking does she that _she _is mistress? Oh my poor mistress! If she knew the scum _he_ had let in, oh how she would weep. What would she say to Kreacher? Kreacher knows what she would say. She would have Kreacher throw them out with the rubbish. Insulting to Master's house it is. Her and her brats messing up everything. _Cleaning_ she says. If she wants to clean up the master's house she should leave and take her filthy blood-traitor brats with her. "

Regulus nodded in silent bemusement. "Who is she?"

Kreacher snorted, "A _Weasley_. Filthy, sneaky, double-crossing blood traitor. _She_ wants the Master's house, she does. Kreacher sees it. Treats it like her own already she does. Rabble of her sort always want better than they ought. Oh, it is well known that the Weasleys were once – " Kreacher hissed " – _respectable_ but no more."

Regulus winced. "How many people are in the house right now?"

Kreacher paused to think for a moment, "Eleven. Mostly Weasleys."

"Not including you and I?"

Kreacher nodded.

"Do you know their plans for the day?"

"Purpose they do, to destroy the drawing room! No respect for the effects of my mistress! Poor Mistress! Cruelly treated, prisoner in her own house! Like poor Kreacher. Kreacher is used to it. Mind, Kreacher has always – "

Regulus held his hand out to silence Kreacher as footsteps descended the stairs. The Weasley woman came down followed by several teen-aged children, mostly redheads. Among them was a thin boy with the most awful round glasses obscuring his brilliant green eyes. An erratic mess of raven hair barely concealed the thin lightening shaped scar above his right eye. Harry Potter looked for all the world like the man who had saved Regulus' life so many years ago.

The group descended the last of the stairs and continued on to the kitchen. A tall, gaunt man with long black hair and haunted grey eyes emerged from the room across the landing. Regulus held his breath and his brother Sirius passed by. Slowly, Regulus breathed out in a long sigh, closing his eye to blink away the emotion. Regulus was dead to Sirius. He had been so a long time before he had actually 'died'. It would be best to leave that wound as closed as possible and leave without Sirius finding out he was still alive.

Regulus counted out a full two minutes. When nobody else came near the stairs, he darted out of his old bedroom and up the stairs to the drawing room. There he waited, blending into the side of an old wardrobe.

After a time the Weasley woman, Sirius, and the teens entered into the drawing room and started to clean. All the items were sorted through and Sirius chucked nearly everything into rubbish bins as though he could throw out his own memories.

* * *

**James**

Time crawled by. James leaned back against his motorcycle. It was hard to keep from pacing. He had already walked around the block, twice, and Regulus had still not returned. A pair of cigarette butts lay on the ground at his feet and James shook another from the packet. Holding it between his lips he fished a silver lighter from his pocket, flicked it open, and lit the cigarette. Inhaling deeply he closed his eyes, holding his breath for a moment, before exhaling. He looked through the dissipating grey haze. Nothing had changed.

He puffed again on the smoke and sighed. A small shuffle alerted James to the presence of someone else on the street. He turned his head languidly and saw a hunched, battered old man with grizzled grey hair, and a whirling electric blue eye staring at him.

"Can I help you, sir?" James asked, raising a brow.

"You've been standing out here a long time," the old man said.

"I'm waiting for someone," James flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette.

"Move along."

"You gonna call a Bobby on me?" James smirked.

The old man pulled a wand, and held it level with the end of James' cigarette.

James' green eyes narrowed. "Just try it old man."

"Name's Alastor Moody."

"How nice," said James "if you're not going to do anything with that wand why don't you put it away?"

"I've already done something."

James shrugged unconcerned and inhaled on his cigarette. Too late he noticed the odd taste mingling with the tobacco. He coughed, choking on the strange smoke. Moody smiled. A confused look past over James face, smoke escaping from his lips in a slow stream. He looked once from the cigarette in his fingers to the smug smile on Moody's face. Then he blacked out.

* * *

**Harry**

Harry had the funny feeling he was being watched. It happened from time to time, a pickle on the back of his head but whenever he looked nobody was looking at him. Sometimes he thought he heard a voice saying things like, _shhh_, _stay still_, and _go take a bath_.

"What's up, Harry?" asked Fred.

"You're as jumpy as a Jack," said George.

"I just have the feeling I'm being watched is all."

George laughed, then leaned over and whispered into Harry's ear. "Might be Ginny? Think so?"

Harry shook his head. Whatever it was felt unfamiliar. George shrugged and went back to work.

Harry sighed and continued sorting through the desk drawers. "Hey, Sirius," he called, "You want any of this stuff."

"No," Sirius said while trying to pull a large tapestry off the wall. "Bin all of it."

Harry did as he was told and then crossed the room to Sirius.

"Sirius," he said, "Uh… about last night…"

"Don't mention it," Sirius grumbled.

Harry sighed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lost my temper like that."

Sirius stopped tugging at the tapestry, regarding Harry coolly, and then he smiled, "Apology accepted. I'm sorry too."

"For what?"

"For letting you down."

"It's alright, Sirius. I'm getting used to the idea that the only person I can count on is myself."

"'Cept for that James fellow," Sirius jabbed with a smile. "You sure took a shine to him."

Harry felt his face heat up and he ran a hand though his hair. "There's just something about him Sirius… I don't know if you'd understand… I don't really know how to explain it… but… he's _free. _ He does what he wants, he doesn't think twice about it, and he never worries about what may happen… he's fearless… and when he's around, I can forget that I'm some unwanted foundling living in my Aunt and Uncle's house, constantly watched… untrusted by everyone… I forget the fear… the anger I feel…" Harry trailed off and shook his head. "Sorry. I'm rambling."

Sirius' face softened. "I think I can understand that." Sirius gestured to the tapestry, "Look at this, Harry."

Harry looked. The tapestry looked immensely old; it was faded and looked as though Doxys had gnawed it in places. Nevertheless, the golden thread with which it was embroidered still glinted brightly enough to show a sprawling family tree dating back (as far as Harry could tell) to the Middle Ages. Large words at the very top of the tapestry read: _The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black_ 'Toujours pur'. As Harry followed the flow of unfamiliar names, he noted that in several places the tapestry had been burned, and names were missing.

"You're not on here," Harry said, looking at Sirius in confusion.

Sirius chuckled dryly. "Nah. I left this place when I was sixteen. The Potters, your grandparents, took me in after I left." He reached out and touched one of the small burn marks near the bottom. "This was me."

"You had a brother," Harry said somewhat wistfully. Embroidered by the burn mark Sirius had pointed to was the name Regulus Arcturus Black, whom had died some fifteen years previous.

"Yeah, he was the favourite. Proud of blood and family, he was," Sirius frowned. "My mum and dad never joined in with You-Know-Who but Reg did. He was just a kid, didn't know what he was in for. He tried to leave… and Voldemort killed him. He was barely seventeen. But this is what I wanted to show you… " Sirius pointed to a name a few generations back. "I know you've said you don't need a family… and I'd be damned if I didn't know that sometimes a family is more hassle than reward… but I thought you might like to know either way."

Harry looked at the name Sirius had pointed to, joined by a double gold line to Dorea Black.

"Charlus Potter?"

"That would be your great-grandfather, Harry," said Sirius quietly and traced down the line to a burn mark. "This should be your grandfather, Richard. I guess he met the same fate as Uncle Alphard for taking me in."

"And Dad got burned off for marrying my mum, right?" Harry said with a smile. There was a burn mark under where Richard Potter should have been, but to the right of that burn was another name 'Lenore Delphia Potter'. "So she is real…" Harry murmured, then louder he added, "Who's this?"

Sirius smiled wistfully, "Little Lenny, your dad's sister. She was a good kid."

"What happened to her?"

"She was sent to Spain, years ago. I don't know why. But she never came back."

Harry smiled slightly. Sirius' story matched what Lenore had written in her letter. For some reason that greatly reassured Harry.

"I was told that the Dursleys were the only family I had left. I gave up hoping a long time ago that I had any other family. Why do you want to get rid of this so much?"

"Anyone worth remembering isn't on here," Sirius paused. "I see Tonks isn't on here either. Maybe that's why Kreacher won't take orders from her. He's supposed to do what anyone one in the family asks him to," Sirius mused. "Nope, Andromeada isn't on here either. Look," Sirius examined the tapestry closely and pointed to a small burn mark between two names, Bellatrix and Narsissa.

Harry said, "Who was that?"

"Tonks' mother. She married muggle-born Ted Tonks so –" Sirius mimed blasting the tapestry with a wand and laughed sourly. Harry however did not laugh; he was too busy staring at the names to the right of Andromeda's burn mark. A double line of gold embroidery linked Narsissa Black and Lucius Malfoy and a single vertical line from their names led to the name Draco.

"We're related to the Malfoys?" Harry quickly traced the line back to his father's burn mark. "Well… it's pretty distant. Not that it matters. Just because there is blood between us doesn't mean I'm like them." He fixed Sirius with a steady gaze. "And it doesn't mean you are either."

Sirius' expression softened and he started to say something but just then Bill came running up the stairs.

"Mum, Sirius, Moody wants you down stairs," he said."

"What is it, Bill?" Mrs Weasley snapped in annoyance. "If it's another one of his paranoid tirades, I'll not have it."

"Actually… it's important," Bill glanced meaningfully at Harry, "but I'm not supposed to say why."

"All right, all right," Mrs Weasley sighed, throwing down her washrag. "Let's go see what he wants."

They closed the door behind them and locked it. Fred and George immediately fished a pair of Extendable Ears out of their pockets. Harry picked up a washrag and threw it at the door. The rag got within three inches of the door and flew away.

"Imperturbed," Harry frowned.

Fred and George sighed and put the Extendable Ears back in their pockets.

"We could Apparate to a different room and let you know what's going on."

"Your Mum will have thought of that. She's probably got another Imperturbable Charm on the kitchen door."

"Perhaps I might be of service," a low rasping voice whispered from the far side of the room. The teens whirled about all with their wands out. A tall, lean, scarred man with an eye patch was strolling towards them. "There is no need to be frightened."

"Who are you?" Harry demanded.

The scarred man didn't answer, just regarded Harry quietly for a long time. There was something about his features that were vaguely familiar. If not for the scars, he would have been an exceedingly handsome man. His single good eye was a dark grey with a lighter grey starburst around the pupil. Harry had seen eyes like those before. They were his godfather's eyes.

"Stop where you are," commanded Harry. The scarred man had circled around the room and now stood near the tapestry. Harry had subconsciously backed away while keeping his wand pointed at the stranger. "Tell me who you are."

The stranger smiled and tapped the tapestry.

"Regulus Black?" said Harry.

Black nodded.

"Aren't you dead?"

Black chuckled, a horrible grating sound like flint on steel. "No."

"Sirius said Voldemort killed you."

Black winced, "Don't say his name, please."

"Fine." Harry wasn't used to people politely asking him to stop saying 'Voldemort'. It was slightly unsettling. "How are you alive? If Vol – er – You-Know-Who – supposedly – killed you?"

"Your father saved my life."

Harry swallowed nervously. He was suddenly very aware that everyone in the room was looking at him. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, holding his wand steady. "Why are you here?"

"On behalf of a mutual friend," answered Black. He moved to the front window, and opened the previously Doxy infested curtains. He scowled, his brows coming together in concern. He beckoned to Harry. Harry looked past him out the window. A shiny red and gold motorcycle was lying on its side in the street.

"That's James' bike," grumbled Harry.

"He was supposed to wait for me," said Black.

"Did he ask you to come find me? Why? How did he know I was here?"

"He was worried."

"Harry," Hermione interjected, "What's going on?"

"I'm not sure…" Harry said.

"Who is this creeper, Harry?" said Ron nervously. "Looks sketchy to me."

"My name is Regulus Arcturus Black," whispered Black in his low, gravely voice. "And I am the Master of this house."

Ron flushed, and opened his mouth to say something –

"That's all well and good, but where is James?" Harry interrupted.

Black smiled slightly, and ran his fingers along the bottom edge of his eye-patch. "I don't know. Why don't you go find out?" He pulled a strangely white wand from the sash of his robes, gave it a flick and a swish. The door came open with a soft _click_.

"What's going on?" Harry demanded.

"I am unsure," said Black softly. "Perhaps my brother will know."

Harry stood rooted to the spot for a moment, then turned and nearly ran out the door and down the stairs. As Harry suspected, the adults were all down in the kitchen, but contrary to his earlier expectations the door had not been Imperturbed. It hadn't even been closed.

Creeping down the kitchen stairs, Harry heard voices deep in discussion just beyond the door. He couldn't see who was talking and waited to listen.

"Why'd you bring him in here, Mad-Eye," groaned Sirius.

"Hrumph," blustered Professor Moody, "He isn't what he looks like. There is something strange about him. Mark my words. He's dangerous."

"Isn't this… _that_ boy?" Mrs Weasley asked.

"It's possible," answered Lupin, "he certainly matches the description we've been given."

"Of course he's the boy," Professor Moody growled. "And he was outside waiting for someone."

"Do you think he meant Harry?" Mrs Weasley asked in concern.

"Of course he meant Harry," snapped Moody. "Unless someone else here knows him. He's obviously after Harry – Harry even admitted that he had been asked to leave Privet Drive by this boy, and now he shows up here. He's obviously trying to get to Harry."

"And so you bring him in here where he can actually get to Harry," Sirius said blandly. "How could you think that was a good idea?"

"Our guards have been chasing this fellow all over Surrey," Moody said. "We've never been able to talk to him. Now, we've got him under our control and we can ask him anything we like."

There was a soft groan and a slight shuffle.

"He's waking up," Moody said. He sounded slightly troubled.

"That is to be expected," Lupin quipped, "And would seem to be desirable, since asking a sleeping man questions is often counter-productive."

"He shouldn't be shaking off the Sleep Sage so soon. He should have stayed down until Dumbledore and Snape got here."

There was another groggy groan, followed by a bunch of shuffling.

"Get his wand," Moody commanded. "Put it somewhere out of reach. Merlin, this boy is a walking armoury."

Harry crept closer to the door, angling himself so he could see most of the kitchen. Mrs Weasley, Professor Moody, Professor Lupin, Sirius, and Bill were all gathered around the table. James was lying flat on his back on the top of it.

James groaned again and slowly sat up. "Ah, my head," he moaned. "What happened?"

Moody reached out as though to grab James, but his hand never got close. James grabbed his wrist and pulled. Punching the heel of his other hand into Moody's nose as the old man was jerked forward. The other members of the Order pulled out their wands as Moody staggered. James pulled hard on Moody, tugging him clear across the table and into Lupin. The blond boy kicked Bill's wand out of his hand. Grabbed Sirius and pulled him between himself and Mrs Weasley like a shield.

"James!" Harry yelled, rushing into the kitchen. "Stop! Everyone! Stop!"

Bill was just stooping to retrieve his wand and Moody and Lupin were picking themselves up off the floor. Mrs Weasley lowered her wand – just a little, and Sirius and James stopped struggling.

"Please, he's my friend… James… it's alright, they're my friends," Harry implored.

James slowly released Sirius and lowered his hands. "Sorry, Harry… it was just a reaction. I didn't mean to hurt anyone."

Sirius straightened and took a step back. "Are you sure, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "I'm sure."

Sirius sighed. "Well, you're entitled to your opinion."

"Sirius… I know James isn't a bad guy. I believe that as much as I believe that you didn't murder thirteen people.

"He didn't?" James asked, baffled.

"No, I didn't," Sirius growled.

"Be that as it may," said a soft, yet strong voice from behind Harry. "We will need to ask our guest some rather important questions."

"Professor Dumbledore!" exclaimed Harry. He was very much relieved to see the Hogwarts Headmaster, whom he was sure could sort the mess out. The elation was short lived as Snape entered the kitchen behind Dumbledore, herding before him the rest of the Weasley children and Hermione. Mrs Weasley immediately herded the children off to the side, where she watched them like a hawk.

"Ah, Dumbledore," Moody said, straightening up with some difficulty. "You're here sooner than expected."

"Unlike many, Alastor, I don't take every urgent message you send me as a false alarm."

"Did you bring the Veritaserum?"

"I have it," Snape said.

James slid off the far side of the table, warily eyeing Bill.

"I thought Veritaserum was subject to strict Ministry control, and was not allowed to be used without a permit and a warrant for questioning," Hermione said.

"That doesn't matter much when you're good enough to make it yourself. The controls only extend to the buying and selling of Veritaserum," Snape replied with a slight smile.

"It will not be necessary," Professor Dumbledore said with a warm smile.

"Well," harrumphed Moody, "How then are we going to get the answers we want?"

"We shall first attempt the polite method," said Dumbledore. He pulled out a dining chair and sat down facing James, "and ask."

"What do you want to know?" James said quirking a brow. He did not relax, but shifted his weight from foot to foot. His eyes darted around the room.

"Let's start with the basics. What is your name?"

"… It's James."

"Just James?"

"That's all you need to know."

"Stag," Harry supplied, "His surname is Stag."

James shot Harry a look.

"Well, Mr Stag," Dumbledore continued, "I suppose the next logical question would be, why are you here?"

"'Cause the fellow whose nose I broke did something funny to my smokes," James deadpanned.

"I mean," Dumbledore said indulgently, "Why did you come to London when by all accounts you were in Surrey last?"

"I followed Harry," James said, "I went to the park to meet him after dark and I saw a large group of wizards fly off with him."

"He was Disillusioned," Moody growled. "You couldn't have seen him."

James rolled his eyes. "Not specifically him, but an unattended broomstick flying off on its own under heavy guard? Who else could it have been? That was a sloppy manoeuvre at best."

Moody glared. Lupin looked like he was trying _very_ hard not to laugh.

"James, when you called me last night, you asked where I was… why'd you do that if you already knew?" Harry queried.

"I wanted to know if _you_ knew where you were, and by that extension if you'd been taken against your will or not."

"Why do you care so much about what happens to me?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"Because I do," James sighed, "Because… I…"

Harry frowned, "Because what?"

James swore under his breath and ran his hand through his hair. "It comes down to the whole truth, or another lie," James eyes never left Harry, "so the question is… can I tell you the truth?"

"Of course," Harry said.

James took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "I know I should have never kept this from you, it was selfish of me… it was stupid… but I wanted to get to know you… to really know the young man you've grown into in my absence. I should have told you right after the boggart, but I couldn't… you gave me an out and I took it… this isn't the way I wanted to tell you, but I don't have anymore time. I was going to tell you… I just wanted more time… to find the right way... I didn't like lying to you… " James sighed, "My name is James… but not Stag." He struggled to continue meeting Harry's eyes. "I'm… that is… ah… hell… if I had a wand I could just show you…"

"Show me what?" Harry asked.

"_Rimovere Transfuermo_," rasped Regulus Black from behind. Harry turned to look, the youngest Black was carrying Hedwig on one arm, and the other held his wand outstretched towards James.

"Oh!" exclaimed Hermione. She was pointing over Mrs Weasley's shoulder at James.

Harry turned back quickly. A golden glow surrounded James, growing in intensity as the boy began to change. Black flooded James' hair, bleeding out from the roots to the tips. The teenaged boy gained several inches of height, until he stood just taller than Sirius. His shoulders broadened significantly, his chest deepened. His long delicate fingers grew thicker and square-nailed. His nose broadened and lost its fine point, his jaw squared off slightly. His face lost its youthful softness and the green in his eyes darkened to a rich earthy brown, but the golden flecks remained unchanged. It was like looking into an older, dark-eyed mirror.

Harry couldn't believe his eyes. He shook his head. He opened and closed his eyes several times. All around him, the others were suffering from similar reactions. There was that familiar tension in the way James stood, like a deer about to bolt. Then inexplicably, Harry started to laugh. It was not a joyous laugh, but the laugh of someone who had been strained to the point of breaking.

"Harry… are you okay?" his father said softly.

"Prongs… Stag… holy crap how did I not notice that?" Harry laughed. "Your patronus is the same as mine… I never even thought…" the rest of Harry's words were lost in strained, nearly hysterical laughter. He leaned on the kitchen table for support. "We'll see you soon, she said…"

"I'm sorry…" James said softly, gingerly he placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.

Harry slapped it away. He felt hurt, like he'd been betrayed in some deep way he didn't quite understand.

"Why now?" Harry yelled. "Why are you here now that I don't need you anymore? Where were you when I needed you?"

"Where? Why?" James chuckled bitterly, "That's a long story, Harry. Fourteen years of hell. Not to belittle what you've been through, but my life hasn't been a rose garden either."

"You have no idea what I've been through!" Harry yelled.

"Yes, I do," James said calmly, "because you've told me."

Harry stood shaking, dashing angry tears from his emerald eyes.

"Which, case in point, was the reason for deceiving you in the first place," James continued. "You say you don't need me, but, I can help you. I can teach you how to fight, how to survive. I may not always be there to protect you – damn I wish I could be – but I _can_ show you how to defend yourself. Whether against one opponent, or many." James replaced his hand on Harry's shoulder. "But I can only do that if you let me. I don't want to loose you again, Harry. Please, let me help."

It was too much. Harry's mind reeled. He felt like he was drowning and falling at the same time. There was nothing to support him, and everything was closing in. He did not know what to do and he could think of nothing to say. Desperately he looked at Sirius, only to find his godfather looking like he was feeling. Dazed and confused. Except that Sirius keep looking back and forth between James and Regulus Black. Lupin was much more collected. Calmly he walked up behind James and pulled out his shirt collar on the left side. Lupin smirked, and walked back to Dumbledore, whispering something in the old wizard's ear. A general murmuring arose from the crowd.

Hedwig alighted from Regulus' arm and landed on Harry's shoulder. Her weight was solid and her presence reassured Harry. He ran his fingers through her soft feathers. Sure, everything was topsy-turvey, but it would all work out in the end. After all, Harry had survived more terrible and troubling ordeals than finding out his father was still alive.

"Ah, there you are, Wisp," James said with a smile, extending his hand to Hedwig. He smiled softly at Harry. "You see, Harry, we didn't abandon you. Some of us have been closer than you'd think." To Hedwig he said, "It's time."

The owl hopped off Harry's shoulder and landed on the floor. Then she began to grow, shooting upwards at an alarming speed. The feathers of her wings shrank and melded into soft-skinned arms, long human fingers slipped into James' outstretched hand. From her talons emerged human feet encased in tight tan boots that stopped just below her knees and the hem of a pure white dress. Raven dark hair fell to her waist. She tottered on her feet, and then she fell forward into James' arms.

"Oh, Daddy, I've missed you," she said in a whisper.

"Me too, baby," James murmured, "me too."

Then she turned around, and Harry was once again confronted with the feeling of looking in a strange mirror. She had his eyes, his mother's eyes. As he stared into her eyes, the realization dawned in Harry's mind, _their_ mother's eyes.

Absently she swept a lock of hair back over her ear. It was separated from the rest of her dark locks and had been tightly braided with beads that were inscribed with ancient runes, a snowy owl feather hung from the end of it. She smiled at him. Harry smiled back.

"I know you," he said with certainty.

"Of course you do," she laughed, and hugged him. They were the same height. "You knew me the moment you saw me in Eeylops'. You just didn't know what you knew." She held him at arms length. "Please don't hate us, Harry. I don't think I could bear it if you hated us. I'd rather spend the rest of my life as an owl than have you hate me."

Harry could not think of anything to say, and a palpable tension filled the room. Tension which was broken – surprisingly – by the appearance of Kreacher.

"Hee hee hee," Kreacher cackled, rubbing astonishingly clean hands together in glee. "The Master has returned. Now you will all pay for how you have treated poor Kreacher. Pay for trespassing in the Master's house. Disrespecting the poor mistress, Shame on you all. The filth will be cleaned, oh yes, it will. It will be mudbloods and traitors that will be tossed out with the rubbish."

"Shut-up you lousy little – " Sirius growled.

Black took Sirius feet out from under him and sent him sprawling on the floor.  
Kreacher cackled.

"Do not disrespect your family, Kreacher," Black growled. Kreacher stopped laughing and his bat-like ears drooped. "Do not dishonour me. Remember why I bear these scars."

"Kreacher begs a thousand pardons, Master Regulus," Kreacher whimpered, wringing his hands. "Kreacher will punish himself – "

"You will do no such thing."

"But Kreacher has wronged his master! He must be punished!"

"No," Black dismissed the notion with an imperious wave of his hand. "I forbid it."

"Yes, Master. Of course Master. Kreacher will do whatever Master says. Kreacher would not think of disobeying the master," Kreacher bowed so low his nose nearly touched the floor. "Is there anything Kreacher may do for the master?"

Black gazed about at the grand assortment of people standing in his kitchen. Some were quiet, others thin lipped in fury, some were more baffled and yet others intrigued. "Perhaps lunch and tea for our guests. We have much to discuss." Black smirked at Kreacher, "And don't bother doing it the hard way."

"Yes, Master," Kreacher bowed and bustled off towards the dirty cupboards and massive hearth. With a snap of his knobby fingers years of accumulated soot and dirt disappeared. As Kreacher began to hum a jaunty tune, the cupboards opened, pots, pans and kettles came floating down from the ceiling. Kreacher hummed and snapped his fingers at the water pump. It began pumping water into a kettle on its own.

While Kreacher hummed, snapped and bobbed around in the kitchen, Black turned to the crowd.

"Please, sit," he gestured to the table. "It will be a short time until lunch is served. My dear," Black rasped, extending his hand to Hermione, "You are the child of muggles are you not?"

"I am," Hermione replied coldly. Ron growled.

"Then you must be my honoured guest," Black said with a smile. "As the first such child to enter this place."

Hermione smiled smugly at Ron. She took Black's offered hand, and allowed him to lead her, as though she were a grand lady, to the head of the table. He sat her at his right hand.

"Thank you, Regulus," Dumbledore said, tucking into the table. "Lunch sounds wonderful. Come, everyone, sit down. Let us eat and proceed with calmer heads, and fuller stomachs."

One by one, everyone else took a seat at the table.

"So," Harry chuckled, sitting down by the girl who until recently had been Hedwig, "What's your name? Your real name, that is."

"It's Wistaria," she replied. "Although Mum and Dad call me Wisp, and Reg calls me Feathers. I'll probably still answer to Hedwig. That's been my name for the majority of the last four years."

"I can understand Feathers, but why Wisp?" Harry inquired.

"Ever try to catch a Will-o-the-wisp?" James said.

Harry shook his head.

"It's damned near impossible, same with Wisp. If she doesn't want to be tracked, you can't find her."

Small talk was made until lunch was served. Harry noted that Sirius did not look at his younger brother throughout the entire meal. After the meal was finished James told his tale.

Slowly, methodically, James related the events that had lead up to that fateful Halloween. Starting with his selection of Pettigrew as Secret Keeper, and Peter's visit in the morning, he continued with the poisoned formula, the letters, and the deaths of Lily's parents. His explanation included Hagrid absconding with Harry, the encounter with Bellatrix Lestrange, and finished with his witnessing Sirius' apparent murder of Pettigrew, his conversation with Frank and his own departure to Switzerland.

"Since then, we've pretty much been on the run," James said. "We waited in Switzerland maybe a month, then we received news about what happened to Frank and Alice, along with arrangements for Harry's custody. We were going to return to England right away but there were certain complications."

"What kind of complications?" Mrs Weasley snapped. "What could possibly be more important than taking care of your own child?"

"Making sure he didn't get killed as soon as we found him. Making sure we stayed alive long enough to find him in the first place," James replied blandly. "For some reason or another, while we were in Switzerland, Lily and the girls became the target of a rather vain Witch that was using beautiful young women and children to sustain her own beauty and youth. By the time we'd dealt with _that_ problem, I'd managed to piss off every other Dark Wizard and Witch in the country and well… in the last fourteen years I figure I've probably made enemies with every Dark Wizard on the planet."

"How delightfully unsurprising," drawled Snape in a surprisingly neutral tone, "I see you still have that magnetic personality everyone adored so much."

James shrugged. "I suppose so. Anyway, I was contacted by the goblins when Harry accessed his vault. By that time, Wisp had already gone off looking for him on her own. Since then it's been hit and miss trying to get to Harry until now."

"It is good to have you back, James," said Dumbledore.

"Speak for yourself," Snape grumbled.  
"In these troubled times," Dumbledore continued, completely ignoring Snape's comment, "it is expedient that we gather all the allies we can. Lord Voldemort has returned and we shall all be in a great deal of trouble if we do not prepare ourselves for what is coming." Dumbledore fixed a welcoming smile on James, "It is my fond hope that you –" he smiled at Regulus as well, " – both of you, will consider joining our cause."

"Me?" Regulus croaked hoarsely, pointing at himself. "But I was a Death Eater."

"'Was' being the operative word," Dumbledore smiled. "Would this not be a good opportunity to give back what you once took away?"

"I'll think about it," Regulus said uncommitted.

"How about you, James?" Dumbledore asked.

James fiddled with the chains about his neck. "I'll have to talk to Lily about it," he said. "I'm sure she'll agree."

"Can we join too, Dad?" Wistaria asked excitedly.

"Absolutely not," Mrs Weasley snapped. "The Order is no place for children."

"I'm fifteen years old," Wistaria protested, "I'm not a child." She turned to James, "Dad – "

"Wistaria," James cut in, "it's not my decision. It's the Orders."

"You can't seriously be considering letting out child do something so dangerous," Mrs Weasley protested. "It's out of the question."

James sighed, and stood from the table, head down and hands flat on the worn surface. "It'd be no more trouble for her than the life she's already lived. Masquerading as Hedwig may have brought her a reprieve from some things, but it certainly did not exempt her from everything." James looked to Dumbledore. "Wistaria is certainly capable. Even so, I'm not sure Lily would approve."

"Well," Mrs Weasley said, "At least she has some sense."

"But Dad, you could talk Mom into letting me join," Wistaria objected.

"I could, but I won't," James said firmly. "You've done enough fighting for someone your age."

"While your enthusiasm is most appreciated, young Wistaria," Dumbeldore interjected kindly, "I'm afraid that the Order of the Phoenix is for adults only."

Wistaria grumbled.

"Come, Wisp, Harry," said James. "It's time to go."

Harry looked around at the faces of his friends, his father, and his sister.

"Okay, Dad," Harry said. The word felt strange on his lips, but Harry found it rather to his liking.

"It was good to see you again, Sirius," James said, shaking Sirius' hand by the door. "And I'm glad I was wrong about you."

"Yeah," said Sirius, his voice thick with emotion, "You come and visit soon you hear."

"We will," James promised.

"James," said Lupin, "It's good to have you back. It hasn't been the same since you've been gone."

"Thanks, Remus, its good to be back. I'll see you later."

"Take care of yourself," Regulus rasped, "and tell Lily not to worry about me."

"Of course," James said.

They said the rest of their good-byes and Harry walked out the door of number twelve Grimmauld Place and into an uncertain future as a member of a rather odd family.

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**Author's Notes:** This was the hardest chapter to write so far. For the most part this chapter was entirely re-written, and holds very little similarities with the old story. I felt that this particular chapter had the ability to make or break the flow of the story. The characters and their reactions had to be believable and real. There was a major overhaul in the character of Wistaria, Harry's twin, in turning her into Hedwig, some of her personality will change, but much of it will remain in tact. This wasn't a change I made on a whimsy, a lot of thought went into this decision.


	7. Land's End

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, all rights reserved by J.K Rowling.**

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_**Land's End**_

_**Harry**_

They travelled a long time; Harry and James astride the flying motorcycle, while Hedwig – Wistaria, Harry corrected himself – winged on ahead, or behind, or beside. She moved like a ghost through the sky, silent on soft feathered wings. Harry could not say exactly where they were going, except that for the most part they seemed to be heading north. They often changed altitude and direction, sometimes flying through low hanging clouds – much the way Professor Moody had wanted.

The only warning Harry had of the sudden dive was when Wistaria suddenly tucked in her wings and plunged down through the clouds. The decent was so sharp and so fast that Harry felt himself lifting of the seat of the motorcycle. Branches snapped and whipped against his helmet and body as they crashed through the treetops. A great spray of dirt and leaves erupted from under the tires when they hit the ground. James spun the motorcycle sharply, breaks squealing, and they came to a stop.

"Show off," Wistaria chided her father with a grin. She was human again, and brushing wet leaves off the front of her white dress with a look of distaste.

"Always," James answered, removing his helmet. "We'll be walking in from here," he explained to Harry. We can leave the helmets and bike here in the shed."

"What shed?" said Harry looking around. There was not even a clearing where they had landed, just a few slightly wider places between the thick trunks of ancient oaks. There was definitely no shed.

"This one," said James opening a door that was not there. Harry could see the inside of a large shed, the shadowed frames of several motorcycles and the inside of the door itself, but he could not see what the door was attached to. "Got your trunk, Harry?" James asked, reaching for the helmet in Harry's hands.

"Yeah," Harry handed his helmet to James, and adjusted the straps of the blue rucksack slung on his back. It felt empty, even though Harry knew it contained all of his earthly possessions, including his beloved Firebolt.

"Good," said James, closing the door of the shed. "Let's be off then."

The air was hushed under the canopy of the trees, the sounds of their footsteps swallowed by the soft earth, yet in the dappled light of the summer sun a great number of birds flittered about. And fairies. There were a lot of fairies. They filled the air with the chiming of bell like voices. Harry enjoyed watching them as he walked quietly behind his father.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked after a while.

"To my old family estate," James said looking back over his shoulder with a smile. "It's not much farther."

"You lived here?" Harry asked dubiously, "out in the middle of nowhere?"

"Most wizards live well away from civilization, with the Floo and Appartation; we really don't need to live close to anything or anyone."

Harry kept James talking about his childhood as they walked, some of the tales he'd previously been told took on a whole other light as his father's childhood friends took on the faces of Sirius, Lupin, and Pettigrew. Every now and then, Wistaria would chime in with a bit of hilarity from her times with their younger sisters. Harry learned the names of his family one story at a time. Aunt Lenore; her son, Domingo; his younger sisters, Amaryllis and Iris; his mother, Lily; and the house-elf Poppet were all waiting for him.

The farther into the forest they walked, the more Harry felt like he was walking into a fairy tale. The grass grew greener, the moss softer, the trees wider and taller, and the flowers more brilliant in colour. The sounds of a babbling brook joined the chiming of the fairies, the laughter of the trio, and the occasional chattering of an irate squirrel. Maybe it was a chipmunk. Harry couldn't tell.

Wistaria minded her steps, selecting each footfall with care. Where James leaped from one bank of the brook to the other, Wistaria skipped over slick river stones with ease. Harry awkwardly attempted to use the stones to cross the shallow waterway, and was awarded with a wet trainer for his efforts. His father smiled and, grasping him by the arm, heaved him up the steep bank on the far side.

"Not much farther, Harry," said James, "We should be there soon."

Harry felt like he had just swallowed a Fizzing Whizzbee, he was not sure that his feet were on the ground anymore. Just a little while longer, and he'd be home, truly home for the first time in his life.

"You said that half an hour ago," Wistaria grumbled.

"And if you don't walk faster I'll say it again in another half hour," James chided.

Wistaria sighed, and looked longingly up at the patches of blue sky visible through the tree tops.

Before long they passed through a set of broken iron gates attached to crumbling stone pillars that guarded no path.

"Welcome to Land's End," James said dryly. "It's not much now, but you should have seen it in its day."

The first thing Harry saw was the dragons. Nearly twenty feet from snout to tail tip, the beasts lounged in the sun. Unlike any dragon Harry had ever seen (and he had seen a few) these dragons were not a solid colour. Their scales were obsidian black, striped through with crimson like a tiger. A row of golden spines extended down the dragons' backs, three long golden horns swept backwards from the crest of the head, and triangular ears, like those of a cat, sat just below the outer horns.

"Uh... Dad..." Harry stopped short, grabbing a hold of James' arm. One of the beasts yawned, and stretched out its giant bat-like wings exposing crimson leathers between ebony fingers. "I think we went the wrong way."

"No," James smiled reassuringly. "We're at the right place. Don't worry about them. Domingo will take care of them if they give us any trouble."

"Are you sure it's safe?" said Harry, eyeing the dragons.

"Depends on your definition of safe," James replied nonchalantly, "if you think 'safe' means 'absolutely no possibility of harm' then no, it's not safe. I mean, they _are_ dragons after all."

"You're crazy," Harry said. "You want to just walk right up to a pair of dragons like its nothing. Is this some sort of spell?"

"No," James assured him, "the dragons are real. And we're sort of going to walk between them, not right up to them." Harry looked sceptical.

"Its okay, Harry," Wistaria said, "just act like you're supposed to be here, and stay close to Dad and I." Then, boldly, James and Wisp headed towards the lounging dragons. Gritting his teeth against the absurdity of it all, Harry set off across what must have at one time been well manicured lawns. Wild hedges, which should have separated lush gardens, spread out from around a vine covered fountain.

The dragons scrutinized them with eyes the colour of glowing coals, but the beasts did not attack. The most energy they showed was when one blew a ring of smoke out its nostrils. In contrast to the near blind rage of the Hungarian Horntail and the random violence of baby Norbert, Harry found the languor of the odd black and red dragons unsettling. It was decidedly un-dragon like.

Past the dragons was a small campsite. Three tan canvas tents were erected in a half-circle around a campfire. An amalgamation of chairs, logs and stones were arranged around the fire, with an equal amalgamation of females sitting in them – his aunt, mother, and sisters. The youngest, a serious faced girl of eleven, with vivid auburn hair and dark brown eyes, was levitating a large iron tea pot over the flames. A table draped with a red and white chequered cloth stood just off to the side, beyond the camp stood the charred remains of a stately manor.

"Mum!" Wistaria exclaimed, and embraced Lily from behind.

"Wisp, you're back," Lily twisted about and hugged her daughter. "Does that mean –" she glanced up over Wistaria's shoulder "– your father and brother are here?" Her face softened, and then she smiled, and her whole face came alight, a faint mist shimmering in her striking emerald eyes. "Harry," she murmured, rising from her chair. She held her arms out; Harry dropped the blue rucksack on the ground and ran into her embrace. "Harry," she murmured again, clutching him tightly in her arms, "My little boy."

"Mum," Harry whispered. She smelled of flowers and wild berries, and of the smoke from the fire. Lily held him for a long time, then, reluctantly loosed her grip and stepped back. Harry smiled.

"You've gotten so big," said Lily sadly. She ruffled his hair. "Did my sister treat you well, or do I have to hex her?" There was an edge in her voice, a slight narrowing of her eyes, which told Harry she was not teasing.

"Well enough," Harry lied. "I'm alive, aren't I?"

Lily made a noncommittal noise, glancing curiously over at James. Harry's father merely shrugged.

"Ammy! Pay attention to what you're doing!" someone yelled just as the levitated tea pot crashed into the fire, spraying embers and steam all around.

"Oops," said the aubrurn haired little girl sheepishly, her face flushed. She looked almost exactly like Lily, except her eyes. Her eyes were James'.

"Amaryllis," James and Lily said in unison.

"Sorry," Amaryllis sighed. "I didn't mean to."

"No real harm done," James chuckled, smoothing Amaryllis' wavy hair. Then louder he said, "Shall we dispense with the awkwardness of introductions, Harry? Give you some faces to match all the names." Harry nodded with a giddy grin, and James continued, "This is my youngest, Amaryllis, she's eleven, the penny-head there –" he indicated a blue eyed girl with incredibly curly copper hair sitting cross-legged on a log "– is Iris, she'll be fourteen in a few weeks –" Iris waved at Harry, who waved back " –the lovely blonde lady there is my sister, Lenore, and of course, your mother." James looked around the camp, "Where are Poppet and Domingo?"

"Tío! Up here," laughed a voice from behind them. A young man was standing on the back of one of the dragons. He was rather tall, and neither lean nor broad, having an appearance of solidness without being bulky. His face was sharp, with high cheekbones, a tapered jaw line, and an aquiline nose that lent him the impression of a hawk. His short, slightly shaggy hair was black that flashed deep red in the sunlight.

"Domingo!" James called back with a laugh. "There you are."

Domingo leaned forward and slid off the dragon's scaly flank, landing with a soft thump in the grass. Grinning, he sauntered up to Harry and extended his hand. "'ola, 'arry," he said in very accented English. "Es pleasure to meet you."

"Uh, nice to meet you too... Domingo, right?" Harry said dubiously, shaking Domingo by the hand.

"Sí," Domingo said, obviously quite pleased with Harry. "Sí, I am Domingo, and this –" he gestured to the dragon that he until recently had been standing on "– es Brasa, and that –" he gestured at the other dragon "– es Sombro."

"The dragons have names?" wondered Harry.

"Sí, they have names," Domingo waved his hand dismissively, and chuckled. "Don't worry 'bout them. Es like naming a cat; they never come when called anyway."

"That just leaves Poppet..." James said, "Where is she?"

"Poppet is here, Master James," said the house elf in a light reedy voice, stepping out from the shadows cast by one of the tents. She was a small creature, completely bald with almost fine features; she had large crystal blue eyes, and a round nose like a button mushroom, a length of saffron orange cloth was wrapped around her skinny body in an elaborate toga-like dress. "Shall Poppet be packing now that Master is returned?"

James shook his head.

"Master is not wanting to be leaving soon?" Poppet asked.

"No," James said to a chorus of surprise, "we're not leaving."

Lily looked amused, and reclined against a large stone. "All right, dear, explain."

"When I went to get Harry last night, the Order – yes, Lily, the Order – had already moved him to a safe house. They know we're back," said James, slumping down in a chair by the fire. "And they need our help." Lily arched a brow. "Okay, I know all we've been doing for the last fourteen years is running, and fighting, but, we will have allies now." Lily nodded silently. "Regulus stayed behind," James continued, "the new Head Quarters is in his old house."

"And they just believed that you where who you said you where?" Lenore asked.

James rubbed the side of his neck uncomfortably. "Moony was there... I think he convinced Dumbledore that it really was me."

"Well," said Lily sensibly, "This may just have been the catalyst for the greatest change in our lives. Perhaps, in some way, we've been hoping for something like this to happen – to be found, and to have attachments to the outside world again." She patted James fondly on the knee. "We've always felt bad about leaving everyone behind, but it was necessary at the time."

Harry's sisters looked at each other, then at their parents.

"Does this mean we'll get to go to Hogwarts, Mum?" Iris asked timidly.

"Most likely," Lily said, "And we'll have to fix up a house, if we're going to be staying in England, we might as well get out of these tents and into a proper home."

The stunned, thoughtful look on the faces of Iris and Amaryllis puzzled Harry, until he realized something: those tanned canvas tents were the only home they'd ever had. Privet Drive may have been unwelcoming and harsh, but there had still been a permanency to it that in some strange way had been comforting and dreadful all at once. At the very least he had always known where he would be sleeping the next night.

The buzz of voices filtered in through Harry's introspection, excited questions about bedrooms and libraries. Then, to his embarrassment, Harry realized that someone had been talking to him.

"Are you hungry, Harry?" his mother asked in that peculiar tone people use when they've had to repeat themselves.

"Oh, yes, a little," Harry said quickly.

"Poppet will be starting supper then," said the house-elf with a bow.

"It's alri– " Harry started to say, then changed his mind.

Poppet gave him a knowing sort of smile, and disappeared into one of the tents.

Later that night, by the glow of the fire light, they ate smores, talked and laughed about the future and the past until at last Amaryllis' yawning became so contagious that they all turned in for the night.

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**Author's Notes:** Not much to say about this particular chapter. Harry meets the rest of his family, a bunch of character introductions for everyone. Yay?


End file.
